Narn e mbar Lasgalen
by erunyauve
Summary: (Tale of the House of Lasgalen) No kingdom of men or elves lasted longer than the rule of Oropher and Thranduil. From Doriath to the Third Age, this is their story. Complete.
1. Letter to the King's Library

Author's Notes: This story is a prequel to Rîn, following Oropher and Thranduil from Doriath in the First Age through the end of the Watchful Peace (Third Age 2460) and the birth of Legolas.   
  
Disclaimer: Innolas is mine; all others in this chapter belong to Tolkien.   
  


**Letter to the King's Library**

  
  
_My people are now forgotten in Arda, save by a few among the Dúnedain and the hobbits (themselves now lost to men). Yet we remain, hidden in Eryn Lasgalen, the last of our kind save Círdan. In Minas Tirith one may yet find dusty tomes, mostly written in languages now lost, telling of the great kings of the Noldor, of Thingol and Elrond and other storied names in elven history. My father has outlasted them all; while the kingdoms of men and elves rose and fell, the realm established by my grandfather has never faltered.   
  
Our history has been mostly ignored, and thus I set myself the task of recording my family's story. The portion that concerns my brother I intend to leave with the hobbits. As for the writings contained herein, which relate to my father and grandfather, I ask that the King's Library preserve them among the ancient histories of my people.   
  
Innolas Lasgalen, son of Thranduil_   



	2. The Elder Days

Author's Notes: This chapter has been almost completely rewritten as of 05/27/02, thanks to helpful suggestions from reviewers. I have also made a few minor corrections.   
  
Please do not assume that any of the relationships I have described are canon; some are, some are based on gleanings from _The History of Middle-Earth_ and _Unfinished Tales_, and some are entirely created for the purposes of this fic. The notes at the end of the chapter and the longer description of the genealogies involved (All in the Family, Appendix), should show what Tolkien actually told us, what I have deduced, and what is entirely of my own making. From _Unfinished Tales_ we can infer that Oropher came from Doriath (that Thranduil was born in Doriath is a bit shakier); it is also apparent that there was little love lost between Oropher and Celeborn.   
  
Disclaimer: Original characters mostly comprise the forgotten wives, mothers and daughters who must have existed but were never named. All other characters belong to Tolkien. Additional notes and translations of Elvish words are found at the end of the chapter (the language is Sindarin unless otherwise noted).   
  


**The Elder Days**

  
  
Anórieth, named for the golden tresses inherited from her mother, was greatly revered for her beauty. Presently, however, her lovely face was contorted with pain as she mustered nearly her last strength and delivered her first child. The midwife smiled as she lifted the newborn. "A son you have, _hirilen_. And 'tis known that one so difficult to birth shall be great in life." As if to confirm her prediction, the baby roared at the various indignities thrust upon him in his first moments outside the womb. Thranduil had arrived.   
  
Long before the birth of his son or even the creation of the Sun and Moon, Oropher was an elf-lord of small consequence, one of many claiming kinship to his King. His prospects were greatly altered by the first of the Wars of Beleriand. Unable to break through Morgoth's army to reach Círdan, Thingol called for the aid of the son of Lenwë, then ruler of the _Laegrim_ of Ossiriand. Alas, Denethor perished with all his sons at Amon Ereb. Most of his people hid themselves in the forest and would have no king thereafter, but some, alarmed by the foul issue of Angband, sought safety in Eglador. Of these 'guest elves', many followed a chieftain of their own people, Ithilbor, and dwelt in Arthórien. Though Saeros, son of Ithilbor, and Daeron, his friend, would wield great influence at Menegroth, the elves of Arthórien had little affection for their Sindarin hosts and kept mostly to themselves.   
  
The remainder of the Laegrim who came to Eglador lived in the forest of Region. These elves were not wholly sundered from the Sindar, taking Oropher as their lord, for he was sister-son to Lenwë** and Denethor's nearest surviving kin. Many of their rustic habits they retained, yet they adopted also certain ways of the Sindar, becoming more learned than the Laegrim in Arthórien and those elves who remained in Ossiriand.   
  
Following that war, Eglador was surrounded by Melian's enchantment and thence known as Doriath. The Noldorin exiles returned to Beleriand soon after, and Thingol, accustomed to the deference accorded him by Sindar and Nandor alike, did not welcome them or their independence of his authority. Only his brother-daughter's offspring would he permit to enter his realm. Angrod was the first of these kinsmen to come to Doriath, and lately reconciled with the sons of Fëanor, he told nothing of the true nature of his people's exile.   
  
Now, with Angrod was his daughter, and it was her fate to find love among the _Iathrim_. Angrod sorrowfully quit Doriath without Nyellissë, for she would not forsake her beloved. Having bound themselves by custom of the Eldar, Nyellissë and Echelebon soon welcomed a daughter of their own. Anórieth grew into a rare beauty, pursued by many. She was not much past her majority, and though inclined to bind herself, she wished also to be certain in her choice. "Do not be hasty, for I would see you bound in love. Take the measure of your intended carefully, and beware of passing fancies that will not endure," Nyellissë counseled her daughter.   
  
Though she willed it not, Anórieth found herself drawn to the impulsive and romantic lord of the Laegrim. It was an odd pairing, for in temperament and circumstance he was nearly her opposite - brash where she was respectful, impatient where she was dignified, impulsive where she was prudent. His modest dwelling in the forest was comfortable, but quite unlike the luxurious beauty of her rooms at Menegroth.   
  
The colony in Region reminded her of stories she had been told as a child about Cuivienyarna, of their forefathers who awoke to the world like children, crying, "_Elen! Elen!_" when they saw the stars. The Laegrim had little inclination toward industry, making only what they needed and passing a good part of their days at play among the trees. Such artless simplicity was alien to her. Her mother had adopted the ways of her Sindarin mate and his people, but Nyellissë never forgot that her father was brother-son to the High King among the exiled Noldor. That her origins counted for little in Doriath was no cause to maintain decorum unbefitting her noble lineage.   
  
In his pedigree, at least, Oropher could not be found lacking, but protocol suited to a lord was hardly known by his people. He maintained no retinue or honor guard, and presided over feasts to which no _Laegel_ was too humble to be invited.** The courtly manners and trappings of royalty such as those known to Thingol or Fingolfin were strange to these simple elves. By his lineage, Oropher had been made their lord; by his unassuming nature, he had earned his people's loyalty.   
  
From her father, an envoy in Thingol's service, Anórieth had inherited a pragmatic nature, and if these dreamy, unrefined elves of the forest were a curiosity to her, their lack of pretension she respected. In Oropher, she found an elf of deep and complex passions, quick to anger and slow to forgive, and utterly besotted with her in a way that her more formal and diffident suitors were not.   
  
In the end, his people persuaded her heart. On a clear afternoon Oropher called for her unexpectedly, as was his wont, and desired her company on his return to Region. They reached the colony as _aduial_ fell, and the celebrated voices of the Laegrim rose together in song, a prayer of reverence to Elbereth. Indeed, they had not forgotten Cuiviénen. The beauty of the moment was not lost upon Anórieth, and she now saw why Oropher loved this people. Yes, she could live among them, forsaking the comforts of Menegroth, and she would have their silver-haired lord, for no other so stirred her.   
  
They had hardly lived two years as husband and wife before rumors of the bloodshed of their kin in Alqualondë began to circulate among the Iathrim. Bound to Sindar and descendants of Finarfin, Anórieth and her mother were not among those initially expelled from Doriath. With their golden locks, however, they attracted a degree of censure from those who would ingratiate themselves to their King by imitating his wrath.   
  
Oropher found himself in unenviable duplicity, wherein he must condemn a people with whom his wife shared half her blood. It was perhaps this contradiction that made him all the more fervent in hatred of his wife's Noldor relations, as if to assert his own kinship with the slain and preclude question of his motives by others - or by his own conscience. The brunt of his zeal was devoted to Galadriel, and in this, he was perhaps more influenced by dislike of her consort than by belief that the lady herself was responsible for the Kinslaying.   
  
Oropher was not counted among Thingol's chief counselors, nor even among the lesser ones; as his people were content with their lord, Thingol did not interfere with his rule, but neither did the King seek his counsel in any matter great or small. Oropher was ambivalent about his status, for though he had no taste for the political sycophancy at Menegroth, nonetheless he would have respect. It was no small wound to his pride to learn of news from Menegroth from Saeros, for was he, Oropher, not the son of Thingol's brother-son? Ithilbor had accepted Oropher's leadership of their kindred in Region, as he was unwilling to bring division and conflict upon his people, but his son was less inclined to be conciliatory. The prideful elf had found in Oropher's half-Noldorin wife a weakness, and this he pressed in his counsels with the King.   
  
That Celeborn was his most vigorous defender did nothing to placate Oropher. Long had the son of Elorn regarded his cousin with jealousy and resentment; Celeborn was a counselor to Thingol and in all ways more respected than his kinsman. The younger elf chafed under his cousin's frequent counsels; it irked him to be treated as a wayward subordinate rather than as an equal. Such irritation with his cousin began long before the Noldor returned to Arda, and awareness that he was in poor position now to condemn Celeborn in his marriage only intensified Oropher's righteousness. As if to minimize his divided loyalties, he fell to splitting the hairs of blame. That her mother was one of the Teleri made Galadriel's decision to follow Fëanor all the more damning, the elf-lord believed. Better that she and her brothers had followed their father than treat with his murderous brother. In Oropher's mind, this exonerated his own wife, whose grandfather had made the fateful decision to turn away from the Valar. Anórieth had been born in Arda; the choice to ask their forgiveness had never been given to her.   
  
Bitter words passed between Oropher and Celeborn concerning Galadriel. Ever sensible, Anórieth advised her husband to swallow his anger. "You need his support, _hervennen_. Saeros, I deem, is more in the King's confidence than his character warrants. If you will not seek Thingol's ear, you cannot afford to alienate one who will speak in your favor."   
  
Oropher sighed in frustration. "Therein lies the trouble, for Celeborn has always been quick to look out for my best interests, and proffer advice unasked for." Had Anórieth been raised among her kin in Dorthonion, she might have better understood the complicated relations between Thingol's many kin. In truth, Oropher knew that despite the cousins' animosity, their close kinship precluded betrayal of one by the other.   
  
Alas, Thingol did not fully comprehend the Doom of Mandos, or its connection to the Silmarilli. In time, his wisdom yielded to want of the Noldorin jewels that had brought such misery to their maker and his kin, and he was already corrupted by desire when he sold his daughter's hand, though he would insist that this was not the case, for possession of one such jewel.   
  
In the same year, Thranduil reached his majority and Anórieth, unaware of the sorrows about to interrupt their long peace, brought forth a daughter. Laigil was the name given by her mother, for she saw that the elf-child possessed a touch of Celeborn's far sight. Both children inherited her golden hair, but in temperament were more evenly divided between their parents. Like his father, Thranduil could be quick to anger, but he was more thoughtful in behavior, for he had also his mother's practical nature. If he had a weakness, it lay in appreciation for fine food, wine and comely elf-maids, but he was nonetheless a worthy _Hîl_ to his father; indeed, he wore the obligations of his title gracefully. Laigil, his sister, was nearly the opposite of her brother in disposition, being inclined to fancy rather than sensible thought, and gentle of temper. Under a veneer of shyness, however, she hid her father's passion and strong feeling. Many hurts she kept in her heart, untold even to her brother. And she was yet a child when the shadow of the Silmarilli fell upon Doriath.   
  
Dwarves brought about their first ruin, and neither Oropher nor his son ever forgot the many elves who fell under dwarven axes. After the foul murder of Thingol, Melian left Doriath and her protective Girdle was withdrawn. Oropher now feared for his family, and when Dior and Nimloth came to occupy Menegroth, he sent his daughter and wife to his kin, believing they would be safe should Morgoth come against them.   
  
Yet, Laigil warned him against this. "My heart tells me that we shall be better looked after by the Laegrim, _Adar_. They will protect us as Dior cannot."   
  
His daughter's foresight Oropher would recall with bitter remorse, for the doom that awaited Doriath would come not by the hands of orcs but by the oath of the sons of Fëanor. This was the second Kinslaying, and Menegroth was laid to waste. The elves of Region who came to the aid of Dior were utterly routed by the Fëanorians, and Oropher could get no word of his wife and daughter from those who fled Menegroth. Forced to retreat or commit his forces to slaughter, he returned to Region, gathered his people, and brought them south.   
  
At the Sirion in Nivrim, they met Celeborn and a sad remnant of those trapped in Menegroth when the Kinslayers came against them. Elwing** they had saved, and Laigil, but Anórieth was not with them.   
  
"We hid ourselves, _Naneth_ and I, but she was found… ." The young elf-maid could tell no more.   
  
Amid his father's rage and grief, Thranduil assumed leadership of his family and their people, for he saw that they would soon join his mother in death if they did not delay their grief. They fled toward Balar, hoping that Círdan yet held the mouth of the Sirion. Little is told of their journey, for in later years neither Thranduil nor Celeborn cared to recall the hardships endured, but in the company of the Laegrim, with their knowledge of all that lived in the wild places, their flight might have been less arduous than that of the Gondolindrim who took the same path two years hence.   
  
In Arvernien they settled, in the northern part of that region so as to be independent of Celeborn and those who had followed him further south. Oropher's love for his wife had never lessened, and if he had loathing for the dwarves who had helped to bring this tragedy upon them, so much more did he bear for the Noldor who had slain their own kindred - in the end, his distrust of his wife's kin would be his ruin. But now his anger would bear him through the pain of his great loss. Thranduil worried more for his quiet sister. She had been close to their mother, and had seen horrors too great for her tender years.   
  
"Do not worry for me overmuch, _muindoren_. Naneth loved us, and it would be faithless to her memory if through her death we should also fail," she reassured him. For her part, Laigil did not like the somber change in her brother, though some might interpret Thranduil's newfound sense of responsibility as a sign that he was at last maturing. The reserved elf-maid had always enjoyed her brother's stories of his exploits, if carefully edited for her tender ears, and it saddened her that he must now assume burdens that should not have come his way for many centuries yet.   
  
Rumor whispered that the Silmaril had escaped the sons of Fëanor, and accompanied Elwing in the flight south. Having demanded the truth of his cousin, Oropher was enraged - the jewel that had brought such suffering upon so many had come to haunt them still.   
  
"What madness propels you, Celeborn, to thus put all at risk? For it is certain that the sons of Fëanor shall follow that cursed jewel to the end of Arda."   
  
"It was not my choice; it does not belong to me, but to the child of Dior."   
  
"It belongs to none but the _Belain!_"   
  
"Mayhap young Elwing shall be the means by which the Silmaril returns to the Blessed Realm," Celeborn replied patiently.   
  
"Mayhap it shall be the end of all of us," Oropher retorted.   
  
But the Silmaril was with them, and they had not removed to Arvernien but forty years before Maedhros and Maglor brought the fell madness of their oath upon the ill-fated survivors of Doriath and Gondolin. Some, including Celeborn and Galadriel, escaped to dwell with Gil-galad and Círdan at Balar. Oropher, though kin to Círdan, would not be subservient to the High King of the Noldor, and his people fled east to the Laegrim still dwelling in Ossiriand. Many of the Sindar who survived the third and most malicious of the Kinslayings were of like mind, and joined themselves to Oropher's people. Among them was Malgalad**, brother-son to Celeborn.   
  
"My sister…I saw what was done to her, and to Dior. I cannot abide with these _Dagwenin_** or those who would make peace with them. Let me go with you," he implored his kinsman.   
  
Oropher was beset with doubt; though past his majority, Malgalad was even younger than Thranduil. He should yet be with his family. 'What family?' Oropher thought grimly. The elf had lost both parents while still a child; his sister Nimloth had been as a mother to him. Truly, he belonged with his father's brother, but Celeborn had turned his face toward the High King. Understanding Malgalad's grief, for it so nearly mirrored his own, he relented.   
  
Thus, they passed the final years of the Elder Days; hidden deep in the forest, they knew nothing of the host of Valinor, and indeed trembled in fear when the very mountains broke apart, believing this to be the work of Morgoth. They did not know of the great doings of Ingwë and Finarfin until refugees came among them. Now they heard of the summons of Eönwë, but did not heed his call, for few of the Sindar of Oropher's party had looked upon the Sea and knew no desire to go West with their kindred. As for the Laegrim, they loved Arda, and from ancient times had never wished to leave it. In later days, they would be among the last to cling to Arda, even as their race was lost to men. And Thranduil would remain with them.   
  


* * *

  
* _hirilen_   

    my lady   

* _Laegrim_   

    Green Elves, aka Laiquendi   

** sister-son to Lenwë   

    See the Appendix. _Unfinished Tales_ tells of the Nandor who lived in Arthórien under Ithilbor, father of Saeros, but those under Oropher are my own creation and based on a reference linking Oropher to Denethor. It seems to me that Oropher could not have come to Greenwood and simply assumed leadership of the Wood Elves in the Second Age; he must have had some long association with that people or their Laiquendi cousins, and the kinship with Lenwë would allow him to assume the title of King by right of succession.   

* _Iathrim_   

    People of Doriath   

* _Elen! Elen!_   

    Look! Look! (Common Eldarin - primitive Elvish language. See _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar')   

* _Laegel_   

    Green elf   

** Oropher and his people   

    This image of Oropher is largely based upon a passage in _Unfinished Tales_ and descriptions of Thranduil's people in _The Hobbit_. In _UT_ it is stated that the Sindar who went to Mirkwood adopted the lifestyle of their people: "_They wished indeed to become Silvan folk and to return, as they said, to the simple life natural to the Elves before the invitation of the Valar had disturbed it. _" (p. 272, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey). In _The Hobbit_, we see Thranduil presiding over feasts that include many of his people; he seems more integrated with his subjects than Thingol or the High Kings of the Noldor. His son certainly does not display the haughtiness of other elves in _LOTR_.   

* _aduial_   

    Twilight, the time of 'star-opening'   

* _hervennen_   

    my husband   

* _Hîl_   

    Heir - Tolkien seems to have used 'prince' in a different manner than that to which we are accustomed - Dior is never called 'prince'; he is called 'Thingol's heir'. Celeborn, however, is called 'Prince of Doriath' in _The Silmarillion_, and Oropher, Thranduil and Malgalad are called 'Sindarin Princes' in _Unfinished Tales_ (since their people called them 'King', I understand this to indicate their status in Doriath, further supporting a close kinship to Thingol).   

* _Adar_   

    Father   

** Elwing   

    That Elwing escaped with Celeborn and Galadriel is considered in a note written by Christopher Tolkien in _Unfinished Tales_. Nimloth was Celeborn's niece, and he would be the closest living relative to Elwing after her parents were killed. She must have been a child at the time, as Dior was only 39 when he died (one version of 'The Tale of Years' in _The War of the Jewels_ gives her year of birth as 503 - thus she would have been about six years old when Doriath was destroyed).   

* _Naneth_   

    Mother   

* _muindoren_   

    my brother   

* _Belain_   

    Valar - I've mostly used the Quenya _Valar_ in my fanfics, even when Sindarin is spoken, because Quenya remained the language of formal address - it was a bit like Latin to the elves in later ages. However, given that Thingol forbid his people to speak Quenya in Doriath, Oropher would not use _Valar_.   

** Malgalad   

    See the genealogical information in the Appendix; we do not know if or how Malgalad of Lórien was related to Celeborn or Oropher, or even if he came from Doriath or joined himself to Oropher's group. All of this is mere speculation on my part.   

** _Dagwenin_   

    Kinslayers - lacking a word for Kinslayers in Sindarin and Quenya, I created this word for another fic (from _dag_, to slay + _gwenyr_, kin + _-in_, group plural [archaic - common in Doriath, where such a word might have been coined in Sindarin])  
Gil-galad, of course, was not one of the Kinslayers; he was born in ME and, in Tolkien's revised genealogy, was a descendant of Finarfin, whose people had no guilt in the Kinslaying. Hate and grief, however, tend to be irrational. 
  



	3. I Phedhrînath

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all; I have nothing - except original characters needed to fill in great big gaps in the elven genealogies. Translations of Elvish words and notes are found at the end of the chapter.   
  


**_I Phedh-rînath_ **

  
  
End of the First Age, Somewhere Dark   
  
He was yet a Maia, though perverted in form and purpose to serve darkness. His kind remained the most feared of all elf-banes; lays of gallantry were all that remained of the few among Ilúvatar's spawn who did not flee the flame of unlight.   
  
No, his cruel reign continued, though Beleriand was no more and his master cast into the Void. The host of Valinor claimed its victory and withdrew to Aman, and unheeded, he made his way through the deep places of Arda to Caradhras, which received him gratefully.   
  
And he slept.   
  
  
**Early Second Age, Eriador**   
  
Laigil paused, her grey eyes checking for stragglers. Two women were with child, and other elves helped small children along. Morgoth at last overthrown, and the land itself quiet after its great upheaval, elves had turned again to the begetting of children. As they came over the summit of the dwarf path, many looked back upon the forest that had been home for centuries. In this new age, elves and the Edain sought wood for the making of ships and the building of new towns near the Gulf of Lhûn, and the beloved trees of the _Laegrim_ dwindled. Looking east, Laigil saw the endless forest Malgalad and his scouting party had promised; the march did not look so daunting, for already she could see the ribbon of the Baranduin.   
  
"Alas, it is not so near as it seems," her kinsman interrupted her thoughts.   
  
The elf-maid smiled. "Would that we were eagles and might span the distance in a few hours. I wonder where they have gone."   
  
"Your brother and father? I believe your father meets with the dwarves on the matter of safe passage on their road, and your brother accompanies him to ensure that Oropher does not start a war," Malgalad answered, momentarily confused by Laigil's sudden change of topic.   
  
"No, I spoke of the eagles. They lost their home when the lands were flooded, but it is said they flew east." She looked up in alarm at her second cousin. "You do not truly think my father will start a war, do you?"   
  
Malgalad laughed. "He is not so quick-tempered as that, though dwarves would try the patience of Nienna. And these are not the dwarves of Nogrod;** they are gone, I think. The _Belain_ have their way of exacting recompense upon evildoers. No, those who remain were of Belegost, though I think the distinction is lost on your father and brother."   
  
Laigil shuddered; dwarves were dwarves by her reckoning. At the ford of the Baranduin, they left the easy path and turned southeast into the forest, for the dwarf path led north to the East Road** and Khazad-dûm. Their destination was the Gwathló, south of the bridge over the Mitheithel and the emerging hamlet of Tharbad.   
  
Faunil, one among the Laegrim who had accompanied Malgalad, led them confidently through the forest. Thranduil looked up to the shimmering green canopy; he had not seen such unspoiled forest since they had left Region. But none of the _ferin_ he recalled from Doriath grew here, and he felt a pang for his lost childhood and his mother. Indeed, he jumped when he heard her voice at his elbow.   
  
"Ai, _muindoren_, if you are to be also lost in the dreamworld, _Adar_ shall despair of us both!" Laigil chided.   
  
Thranduil shortened his stride to match his sister's pace. "I was thinking of our mother, and the beech trees of home. It would be good to have a place to call our home again." Not in Arvernien or in Lindon had he ever lost the sense that they were only passing through.   
  
"I fear this will be but another resting place. We shall move on again, I think," Laigil replied. "_Hebo vronwen. Ad radathag am mbar gîn, muindoren._"   
  
At last Faunil stopped.   
  
"This is where we camped on the Gwathló," Malgalad told them.   
  
None of the weary elves were sorry to leave the journey, though much work lay ahead. Of the trees the Laegrim would ask permission to take wood, but only as they needed it;** not until given leave by the trees could they harvest lumber to build huts. Scouts were sent out again; they would sweep a half-circle around the little colony, gathering knowledge of these strange lands. They could not cross the river here, so the lands to the east would remain unknown until rafts were made. Thranduil gathered a small party to go to Tharbad, for his father hoped to establish sound relations with the men of the little town; there they would trade such goods as their people produced for needful things they could not make.   
  
The meeting with the dwarves had gone tolerably well. If Thranduil was suspicious of the race, he did not underestimate their intelligence. Such negotiations were wholly new to his father as to him, for they had never before been truly independent of a higher king. He wondered, however, how long they might claim these wilds as their own. Laigil spoke truly; it would only be a matter of time before they were disturbed again. More elves would come over the Ered Luin; men not of the Edain would take their own holdings along the river. They were too close to Tharbad, he thought, but he agreed with his father - it would be folly to move further east, for they knew too little of the lands.   
  
  
**Early Second Age, _Eryn Galen_**   
  
The wood folk were nervous, for they sensed much upheaval in the lands to the west. Orcs they had seen before, when Morgoth came east to defile the nascent race of men. Men, too, they knew, and in those early days they had befriended the Edain, for they were then like children, innocent and unworldly. They taught them their language and what little they recalled of the Valar, and shared the lore of the forest and the means to defend themselves against orcs and other foul things that hunted them. The later comers in whom Morgoth found allies, they regarded with distrust. Elves see the blackness of a faithless heart, and only the most corrupt sons of Fëanor would treat with such men.   
  
From the Anduin and Celebrant, Ulmo gathered tidings of the forgotten elves of the forest, and he saw that since the death of their King** they had become dispersed and scattered, and knew no more the teachings of the wise. Ulmo learned also of the wolves and orcs and wicked men who plagued the peoples of the woodland. Only at the ancient citadel of _Amon Lanc,_ where the elves followed Brónalm, could a host of any measure be gathered. Therefore the Vala took thought for these lost elves, and called upon the help of the eagles in their eyries high in Hithaeglir, but to Brónalm alone he spoke.   
  
"You, who are counted ancient among the First Born, know patience. In time, the heir to Lenwë will unite the elves of the wood, and you will again prosper and be strong. But now you must wait, and watch over your people."   
  
  
**725 Second Age, Eriador**   
  
The wind whipped her dark hair around her, but Berinaeth thought only of a bath; the voyage in her father's trading vessel had left the scent of its goods - fish - clinging to her skin and skirts. Her father took lodging at the most respectable of taverns in Tharbad, though 'respectable' clearly had other meaning here. Indeed, the boisterous crowd would hardly have noticed her pungent odor, for most of them reeked of fish themselves. Many of the locals worked the docks; the tavern's guests, like her father, had come from the Gulf of Lhûn to trade.   
  
The tavern had in its employ a fine cook, and elves and men crowded the tables. A hearty, musical laugh drew her eyes to a tall elf, surrounded by an audience of elf-maids and well plied with wine. Even in his cups, the elf's noble bearing revealed roots loftier than those of his company. He wore neither the blue and silver of Gil-galad's people,** nor the sea-blues of Berinaeth's folk, but garments of emerald green and brown. As he had greeted her father when they arrived, she thought to ask him concerning this unfamiliar elf.   
  
"T'would be Thranduil, son of the lord of the Laegrim. We passed their settlement on our way up the river, though ye would not have known it, 'tis well hidden."   
  
_Anor_ had already sent her rays to warm the summer day when Berinaeth arose. The tavern was oddly quiet, and would be until the mid-day meal was served. The fish markets opened early, especially in the hot summer, and the trading folk, including her father, were long gone to the riverside. In the dining room, only a few ate a late breakfast, among them the blond elf.   
  
"Will you join me, my lady," he called to her.   
  
In the daylight she could see why the maids flocked to him; he was fair of face and the smile he turned on her was charming. She stiffened slightly, for in neither character nor breeding was she of the sort who had thronged around him last night. Still, if her father had thought him to be a rake, he would have called him so.   
  
"I think I will," she accepted his offer. The tavern owners knew enough of the habits of elves to keep fresh fruit on hand during the high season. Berinaeth was delighted and surprised; in voyages with her father to the towns of men, she was used to the rather greasy and tasteless fare of which mortals were queerly fond.   
  
Thranduil read her expression. "It is our own fruit that my people grow. I have just come with the latest pickings. You have not been to Tharbad before, I gather?"   
  
"No. My father does not come here often; he trades more along the western coast. But it has been a good year for fish, and we know not what to do with them all."   
  
"Perhaps a good year for the fisher, but a bad year to be a fish," Thranduil laughed. Berinaeth joined in his merry laugh as he continued, "My business here is finished, though I wait on my companions, who look to the purchase of supplies. I would show you the town, if you do not find my offer presumptuous."   
  
"On the contrary, I would like that, if I can but raise my lazy handmaiden."   
  
"Ai, _hirilen,_ I was up afore dawn," a voice chided behind her.   
  
Ríadel looked none the worse for her early rising, though Berinaeth was quite certain she had been among the elf-maids attending to her breakfast company the previous evening. 'A fine chaperone I shall have to ensure my honor is not besmirched,' the lady thought with amusement.   
  
Thus the three set off to see the burgeoning river town. "It is a fair town, for one of men, but it grows ever larger, which my people do not like," Thranduil told the elf-maids as they paused to watch the brisk business in the marketplace, just off the docks. Already the High King's emissaries and soldiers were common in the town, for Gil-galad foresaw the importance of its location, and Thranduil knew that the growing town would soon impinge upon their pastoral life further south.   
  
"Do you go abroad often with your father?" he asked of Berinaeth.   
  
"As often as I might, though I miss my home and must have my libraries and gardens if I am too long at sea. But we are all that is left of our family, and my father grows lonely."   
  
It was a tale too often told by elves of the Elder Days. "Your mother went West after the War?" Thranduil queried.   
  
"Nay, she was lost in the raid on Brithombar. And my older sister, visiting my father's kin at Nevrast, bound herself to a Noldo and went into Gondolin. We have never had knowledge of her since, though it is said her son and husband came to Arvernien."   
  
"Ah, we were there, but we knew little of the Gondolindrim, for they settled further south, and we were not friendly with the Noldor." A wry expression crossed his face at the understatement of his final words. They had come to the center of town, though the real business of Tharbad was on the river. Once nothing more than thin clapboard shacks, the town center now underwent a rebuilding, and the fine work of stonemasons from Forlindon was evident in the grander places.   
  
Berinaeth looked at her companion's golden braids, betraying a Noldo in his lineage, though she guessed he came from Doriath. 'There is a story there,' she mused. Her mother was sister to Círdan, and his folk had less antipathy toward the Noldor, for the ancient elf had refused to embroil himself in the conflict between the two clans. In the Elder Days, they acknowledged Thingol as High King of their people, but Círdan was his own master, and his ships and warriors had known but one enemy - Morgoth.   
  
As it was now mid-day, the three elves found a grassy lawn on a hill overlooking the river, north of the docks. Here the river was known as the Mitheithel, becoming the Gwathló at Tharbad. The elves ate bread and cheese and shared wine Thranduil had obtained in town, and Berinaeth sang a sad lay of a mariner lost at sea, and his faithful bride who waited each evening on the shore, certain of his return.   
  
She was not, Thranduil admitted, the sort of maid he preferred; indeed, her saucy handmaid was more to his liking. There was a delicate air about her, as fine glass. He knew Aureve, her father, enough to discern that he was no simple fisherman, and he guessed correctly that Berinaeth was close kin to Círdan, for in manner and education she revealed herself to be of his own caste in elven society. Yet, for all her refined sensibilities, he sensed a bit of daring in her; since the death of her mother, she had no doubt become accustomed to the running of her household, and he suspected that in this she deferred to no one, not even her father.   
  


**~~~**

  
  
Thranduil courted the lady assiduously; if his preferences would lead him to maids of less refinement, he was not unappreciative of Berinaeth's beauty and quick mind. In the absence of his mother, his spouse would have the role of _Bassoneth_** among his people. He could not be hasty or foolish in the taking of a wife.   
  
Deeply attached to his daughter and only close kin, Aureve saw that this betrothal would separate them; he would have liked to see her bind herself among the Teleri along the coast. Nevertheless, his capable daughter was meant for loftier purposes than the transport of fish, and as the wife of Oropher's _Hîl_, Berinaeth would have a special place. The wise elven ruler recognized the insight that was the province of the _elleth_,**and valued her counsel.   
  
His daughter was indeed eager to put her talents to use. She had grown weary of her life, and she desired a family of her own. Berinaeth had not Thranduil's sensual fire, or he her cool elegance, but in many ways they were much alike, and if there was no passion between the two elves, there was mutual attraction of mind and body. She would have much to occupy her as lady of the house, and she had become quite fond of Oropher. The elf-lord spoke often of his late wife, and the sadness in his voice stirred her heart. She began to understand this family's fear and hatred of the Noldor and their King.   
  
Oropher alone was beset with uncertainties as to his son's sentiment, and perceiving that a betrothal would be made ere long, resolved to speak to Thranduil on the matter. "With your mother, I was fortunate to love and be loved, and I would wish the same on my children," he began, sharing the last of the fine Dorwinion vintage. Easterlings were troubling the trade routes and there had lately been a shortage of the prized wines. "And I assure you your mother would warn you against a loveless marriage," he continued.   
  
Thranduil longed to speak freely to his sire. It was, perhaps, Oropher's chief shortcoming that his affections, good or ill, often overruled careful thought. As elves migrated east into Eriador, and men came west, Thranduil worried that the borders of their realm would soon be challenged. Already Tharbad began to inch south along the river, and the forest around the town was denuded as the growing burg claimed wood for building. Thranduil foresaw that they could not shut themselves entirely of politics in the Havens. Alliances formed of blood relations were strong, and by agent of his father's detested cousin or Berinaeth's close kinship to Círdan, they must have sympathetic voices close to the High King if their sovereignty were to remain inviolate.   
  
He thought also for his sister. He wished for her to be free to bind herself as she chose, and not out of a sense of duty to her family, and he wished also to relieve her of the burden she had been obliged to carry when their mother was slain. For such tasks as settling minor disputes between their people or handling crises of servants in their household, shy Laigil was not suited, and the elf-maid would be relieved to abdicate her duties as Bassoneth.   
  
Turning away at last from the brightly burning hearth, Thranduil considered his words carefully. "It is true that I do not love her as you loved my mother. But my regard for her is not one of cold appraisal. I am not immune to her charms, and take much pleasure in her company. Do not fear for my happiness, Adar. We shall, I think, be content in one another."   
  
  
**925 Second Age, Eriador**   
  
White-gold braids whipped around dangerously as the elf-child paused to take a handful of strawberries and turned back to his new friends.   
  
"_Caunolas! Tolo si!_" The little one bounced impatiently before his mother. "Finish the strawberries and then you may go." The berries were gone in a flash, and to the elf-child's annoyance, he was held back once more while Berinaeth wiped his face and hands.   
  
"A lively one, he is."   
  
Thranduil picked a strawberry from the basket. "Whither does he come by it, I wonder? I grow tired watching him."   
  
"From you, to hear your father tell it," Berinaeth laughed.   
  
Thranduil watched his son at play with the mortal children on the green. Caunolas was smaller than the others, but his elven grace easily surpassed their skill. He smiled; the children of men underestimated the slender elf-child, unaware of his superior abilities. He looked about the town square, always stunned by the rapid changes of Tharbad as its importance waxed, and then his smile faded rapidly. Berinaeth shook her head as her husband abruptly rose and ran from the green.   
  
Thranduil kept the green cloak and golden hair in his sights. The other elf did not hurry her, and he easily caught up with the pair.   
  
"Where do you think to take my sister?" he demanded of the blue and silver-clad elf.   
  
"Thranduil! I am not a child; I do not need your approval of the company I keep," Laigil interjected.   
  
"I think there is a misunderstanding, _hîren_. I do not accompany against her will, but I hope by her wish and consent," the elf answered.   
  
Thranduil rapidly made sense of this state of affairs, and it pleased him even less. "We will speak on this at home," he told his sister.   
  
"Alas, I did not think my brother and sister would come to town today," Laigil fretted after Thranduil had left them.   
  
Málissë had passed the early part of his life in the Hidden City, and was still somewhat mystified by the loathing of the _Iathrim_ for his father's people. He failed to see the reasoning of an elf who had bound himself to a half-Noldorin spouse but would object to the same for his daughter. Nonetheless, Laigil remained fearful of Oropher's reaction, and Málissë had learned to trust the elf-maid's instincts.   
  
"I wonder that any might deny your wishes, for I am wholly unable to do so myself."   
  
Laigil squeezed his hand. "My brother is not unfair; he will not remain angry."   
  
"Perhaps, then, you will find your father less formidable than you perceive."   
  
Laigil grimaced. "It is not good timing; my father is already upset about the new port, and the migration to Eregion. I do not wish to trouble him further."   
  
"But when, Laigil?" Were circumstances different, they would have been betrothed and bound already. Málissë was not gifted with patience; only his deep affection for the lady retained his hope.   
  
"I cannot tell you. When the time is ripe, I shall know it." And they spoke no more on the subject.   
  


**~~~**

  
  
"What are you thinking, Laigil? A servant of the High King? And you go about without a chaperone? How long have you been seeing this _Golodh_?"   
  
" Guard your temper, brother; I would not have Adar learn of this yet." Laigil had purposely remained in her rooms upon return, knowing that it would be better to let her brother speak his piece than have the night to cultivate his anger.   
  
"And you have deceived us," Thranduil added, unwilling to admit that if his sister had been secretive, her reasons for being so were sound.   
  
"He is half-Sindarin, as Naneth was. And what if he is loyal to the High King? He has done nothing to us."   
  
"You are too trusting, Laigil."   
  
"You do not even know Málissë; it is not your place to decide if I should trust him or not," she answered sharply.   
  
Thranduil softened, surprised by the defiance in his passive sister. "You must care for him a great deal, if you are willing to go to such lengths to share his company."   
  
Laigil smiled shyly. "I do." She turned away. "But I am hesitant before Adar."   
  
"How long have you been thus seeing this Málissë?" he repeated his earlier question, more gently now.   
  
"We met at the midsummer festival a few years ago." She looked up, troubled. "I did not know then that he was a captain at the garrison. I thought to break our friendship when I learned of it, for I did not want to upset Adar. But my heart would not listen."   
  
"Adar will be made to see reason," her brother promised. "He would not wish unhappiness on you."   
  
"You mean you will let Berinaeth persuade him," Laigil laughed.   
  
"Aye, she has a way with our father," Thranduil acknowledged with a smile.   
  
  
**926 Second Age, Eriador**   
  
Swollen with spring runoff, the Bruinen ran swift and cold in its steep fall from Hithaeglir, but its waters were slowed by the meandering Mitheithel, more gradual in its descent from the high country. By the time the Mitheithel met the Gwathló at Tharbad, the rapids of the Bruinen had been thoroughly tamed, and even at its high water mark, the Gwathló was easily navigated by raft or boat. The morning was cloudy and cold, threatening rain, and Thranduil made a mental note to ensure the banks along their lands were well shored up against flooding. Faunil, his granite eyes fierce and his face uncharacteristically grim, steered the raft to the shore, and Thranduil followed him into the forest, still ignorant of the _Laegel's_ purpose in raising him from his bed at this early hour.   
  
"I found this yesterday, hîren. The trees have been uneasy of late - ." He broke off as the two elves reached a clearing.   
  
Thranduil was aghast; he could well understand the other elf's unconcealed fury. A clearing it was, but not one made by Yavanna. Raw stumps of once proud trees covered the ground. The devastation ran far, in a wide strip south to a stand of willows marking an offshoot from the river. He had lived among the Laegrim all his life; this plunder was work of men who knew nothing of forest husbandry, or cared nothing for it. "The _Gwathuirim_ did not do this."   
  
"Nay, I think not. They are a strange enough folk, but disturb the forest little. The trees are not afraid of them." Their sensitive ears picked up the noise of men on the river, moving upstream.   
  
"Come, they return." The two elves hid themselves in the softwood trees nearer to the water. Before long, a great crew broke the stillness of the morning. "Númenor! Have they not wood enough in their own land?" Thranduil whispered, recognizing the star of Eärendil. He snatched the cloak of the other elf, recalling Faunil from his intent to challenge the Númenóreans. "Nay! We are only two against many." The other elf nodded, resigned. Having seen what they had come to see, the elves made their way back to the raft on silent feet.   
  


**~~~**

  
  
"This bodes ill." Oropher knew the Gwathuirim would not permit their lands to be ravaged without reprisal, and though these primitive men were superstitious and feared the elves, his people's sympathies must lie with their neighbors.   
  
"It is said that Tar-Aldarion enjoys the High King's favor," Berinaeth murmured, distracted by her squirming son, whose interest in the subtleties of Sindarin spelling had long ago flagged. He had learned the lays and songs readily enough, and was enraptured by elven history, but Caunolas saw little point in writing down what he kept easily in his head. Now the talk of the adults had taken a serious turn, and he saw his chance to cut short his lessons.   
  
Berinaeth gave in. "All right then, off with you, _tinwegen!_" Caunolas hardly paused to greet and take leave of his father before running off.   
  
"To mischief, no doubt," Thranduil smiled, watching him go. He returned to Faunil's discovery. "There is talk in Tharbad of a shadow in the East; Gil-galad likely hopes to stock the ports with allies. We cannot be drawn into this conflict, Adar."   
  
Oropher sighed. His sympathies, too, were with the men who occupied the lands to the south, but his son spoke wisely. "We would bring the might of Forlond upon our heads. Gil-galad must support Númenor, and I would not make an enemy of him."   
  
His late wife's cousin seemed apt to respect their sovereignty, or perhaps ignored them altogether. Nevertheless, Oropher feared his realm to be but a fiefdom, dependent on the will of the High King, and the impression that they were pressed on all sides had begun to gnaw on the elf-lord. North of Tharbad, the remnants of Fëanor's people had founded Ost-in-Edhil; the gates of the city and of Khazad-dûm even bore the star of that accursed clan.** Gil-galad kept a permanent garrison at Tharbad, and now his allies from Númenor crept upstream from the port at Lond Daer.   
  
"You think of moving east again," Thranduil perceived.   
  
Oropher stood at the window, his gaze lighting upon vibrant gardens, cultivated as a wedding gift for Berinaeth; further out, he saw the trees frisking in the breeze, well-pleased to have elves in their midst. It saddened his heart to think of leaving this place. "I fear we may have no choice. These loggers are still well south of us, but how long will they respect our lands? They are men; greed will eventually dismiss any regard or fear they hold before us. And we may not long be able to restrain our people from involvement. Trees are sacred to them."   
  
"Yet the wine traders who travel to and from Dorwinion speak of orcs and other troubles beyond the mountains. It is there that the shadow is strongest." Berinaeth was least disposed to move east, for she had strong ties still to her father.   
  
"Alas, we are neatly caught, for it is the High King's power that holds the shadow back," Thranduil admitted.   
  


**~~~**

  
  
"My father speaks more often of the east," Laigil announced to her companion. This matter she had long hesitated to discuss with Málissë.   
  
"It is not safe beyond Hithaeglir; something unwholesome has settled in the wild lands," the captain warned.   
  
Laigil knew this. "My heart tells me we must go east, for good or ill. We cannot remain here." She paused; her next words would be difficult. "If they go, I must go with them. They are my people; I could never be happy in Tharbad."   
  
Frustration bubbled to the surface, and Málissë stopped, turning to face his beloved. "What, then, do you ask of me? You will not allow me to speak to your father, and while I would forsake my post to follow you, I cannot do so without your leave, and your promise. I have waited long, _melethen_, and my affection remains strong, but my heart despairs."   
  
Tears blurred her sight. Was she overcautious? Her father was not a tyrant; she knew that he would never forbid her marriage. But she wished to have his blessing; she would not have unpleasantness between her love and her father. "It is just so difficult now; it is why my father thinks to go east, whatever dangers we may encounter. You have my heart, do not doubt that. But my father's ill feelings are provoked anew each time he sees the High King's people in town. We will have his blessing, but not now."   
  
The captain held her hands in his, his heart melting; he hated to cause her such distress. "I cannot but wait, then."   
  
Laigil looked toward this east. "It shall not be long, now. Things far beyond us are stirring."   
  
  
**927 Second Age, Eryn Galen**   
  
Already ancient when the Sun and Moon were made by the Valar, Brónalm might have been the oldest elf in Arda save Círdan. He had taught the skill and lore of archery to countless young elves, and to the Atani, too, when they came among his people. _Cûcherdir_ - bow-master - his people called him.   
  
Possessed of an adventuresome character, and fearless of the unknown, he had wandered much in Arda, coming even into Beleriand more than once. Ever called to return to his people, he did not settle there, but returned east. In this the Lord of the Waters might have guided him, for Brónalm had a fate of which he was yet unaware, and for which he would be revered among the wood folk. The Eldar would tell of him in no song or book of lore, but in years hence, when the hope of all free peoples of Arda came to rest in a fellowship of nine, the felling of a Nazgûl from his flying steed would be but one feat of Brónalm's favored student.   
  
In these days, Ulmo's thoughts were again drawn to the forgotten ones, and he did not forsake his promise to the elf he had chosen as his messenger. Malice brooded in the east, emboldening the fell creatures that harassed the elves of Eryn Galen. Ulmo saw that only in unity could the Wood Elves withstand the darkness rising. Therefore, from the waters of the Anduin he summoned Brónalm, and sent him west over the mountains.   
  
His journey was long, but Brónalm came at last to the Gwathló, and there he found elves who lived among the trees. Their speech had become strange to him, but he had learned some Sindarin in his travels, and the elves knew him as one of their long-sundered clan in the east. At his urging, they brought him before their lord.   
  
Brónalm knew at once the emerald green standard, hung proudly in the elf-lord's hall, for it was that of his dead King. He knew, too, the mark embroidered on the standard, for this he had seen in his dreams - a leaf of verdant green, the emblem of the House of Lasgalen.   
  
He bowed before the silver-haired elf and spoke a single word.   
  
"_Aranen_."   
  


* * *

  
* _I Phedh-rînath_   

    The Forgotten Ones (from _pen_-, without + _rîn_, remembrance + -_ath_, group plural)   

* _Laegrim_   

    Green Elves (Laiquendi)   

** Nogrod and Belegost   

    The dwarves of Nogrod sacked Doriath; those in Belegost tried to stop them. Both cities were probably destroyed when the Ered Luin broke apart at the end of the First Age. Since Beren & his party killed most of the dwarves of Nogrod, the dwarves of Belegost were those who went to Khazad-dûm, where Durin's folk already lived. (ref. _The Silmarillion_)   

* _Belain_   

    Valar   

** East Road   

    The North-South Road probably developed with Tharbad, which I'm assuming was no more than a small settlement at the beginning of the Second Age. The East-West Road must have been well established, as there was some traffic to and from Khazad-dûm during the First Age. However, the Baranduin would have to be crossed at Sarn Ford, since the Brandywine Bridge did not yet exist, and thus the western leg of the East-West Road as it appears on the maps in _LOTR_ would not exist, either.   

* _ferin_   

    beech trees   

* _muindoren_   

    my brother   

* _Adar_   

    Father   

* _Hebo vronwen. Ad radathag am mbar gîn, muindoren_.   

    Keep your strength. Again you will find a way to your home, my brother.   

** … take wood only as they needed it   

    One of the most unintentionally amusing lines in _The Silmarillion_ is the complaint of the Green Elves to Finrod, regarding the arrival of the Atani: "_And these folk are hewers of the trees and hunters of beasts; therefore we are their unfriends… . _" (p. 166, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) However, in _The Hobbit_ we find the elves hunting and cutting trees for wood, and we are told in _The Silmarillion_ that the elves of the east befriended men (we also know that Thranduil's people had strong ties to men). I have taken this line to indicate that the Edain cut trees without proper consideration for reforestation, since the Green Elves must have used wood themselves, having little else with which to build and make items of need. Even if they lived in the trees with no other shelter or furniture, they must have needed wood to make bows and arrows, rafts for crossing the many rivers of their land, and so forth.   

* _Eryn Galen_   

    Greenwood the Great   

** death of their King   

    This would be Lenwë, whose end is unknown. After leaving the host of Olwë, he is not again mentioned, except as the father of Denethor. I assume, however, that he was gone, perhaps targeted by Morgoth precisely to bring disunity to Lenwë's people, by the time Oropher and his company arrived.   

* _Amon Lanc_   

    ancient name of Dol Guldur   

** blue and silver of Gil-galad's people   

    These are actually the colors of Fingolfin's house; gold, white and blue appear to be associated with Finarfin's house. The device of Gil-galad was blue and silver (ref. _J.R.R. Tolkien: Artist & Illustrator_, by Wayne G. Hammond and Christina Scull) but the emendation making Gil-galad a descendant of Angrod was quite late in Tolkien's writings. I'm not certain of the colors associated with the Falathrim, but one appellation used for them was 'Blue Elves'. Green was definitely the color of both Denethor and Thranduil (ref. _The Silmarillion_ and _The Hobbit_).   

* _Anor_   

    the sun   

* _hirilen_   

    my lady   

** _Bassoneth_   

    Breadgiver - this was the title given to the highest woman among her people. She alone kept the secret of making lembas. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Of Lembas') The spelling is from Didier Willis' _Hiswelókë, The Sindarin Dictionary Project_ and based on reconstruction by David Salo.   

* _Hîl_   

    Heir   

** _elleth_   

    female elf - there are few examples, since most of Tolkien's wives wisely refused to follow their husbands into exile (or perhaps this is the first example of the better sense of elven wives). Melian gave her husband a great deal of advice (though she was a Maia, and would be expected to have wisdom). Idril was an important counselor to her father. In both cases, the kings faltered when they ignored the advice of these women.   

* _Caunolas! Tolo si! _   

    Caunolas! Come here!   

* _hîren_   

    my lord   

* _Iathrim_   

    People of Doriath   

* _Golodh_   

    Noldo   

* _Laegel_   

    Green elf   

* _Gwathuirim_   

    Dunlendings, who occupied the region of the lower Gwathló until driven out by the Númenóreans. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' and 'Aldarion and Erendis')   

* _tinwegen_   

    my little spark   

** the star of that accursed clan   

    The Star of Fëanor was displayed on the west door of Khazad-dûm, no doubt symbolizing Celebrimbor. (ref. _LOTR_) It seems likely that the people of Curufin and Celegorm, having deserted the brothers due to their shenanigans at Nargothrond, were led thereafter by Celebrimbor, and many may have followed him to Eregion, out of loyalty to their lord and a shared passion for smith work.   

* _melethen_   

    my love   

* _Aranen_   

    My King 
  



	4. Pride and Prejudice

Author Notes: Thanks to Soledad, whose story 'Innocence' was the inspiration for my interpretation of the relationship between Galadriel and Lórien. I'm a bit hard on Galadriel here. Keep in mind that this story is supposedly written from the point of view of Thranduil's son, who might feel somewhat resentful that the fictional historians practically worshipped Galadriel and all but ignored his father.  
  
Lots of endnotes, I'm afraid - we know so little about the Second Age, and even less about Oropher and Thranduil, so I felt obliged to show what scant reasoning I had behind some of the events in this chapter  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Pride and Prejudice **

  
Spring - 932 Second Age, Eryn Galen  
  
"_Adar_*, they wish only to be allowed passage through our land and the crossing at Parth Celebrant. We are obliged to do nothing in the event of an attack upon the caravans." In the privacy of Oropher's library, father and son discussed the proposal of the emissary from Tharbad. The High King, it seemed, missed his Dorwinion wines and was determined to restore the eastern trade route.  
  
Such involvement in the doings of other peoples ran against Oropher's inclinations. Thranduil insisted that they must have friendship with the men and strange little Fallohides of the Vale, for they were their neighbors. They were good folk, allies in the vigilance required to keep unwholesome creatures at bay, and with them they bartered for what the Wood Elves could not or would not make. The wine trade, however, was a matter of politics, for which Oropher had little taste. "We shall have bands of thieves lying wait in our forest, and caravans or no, they cannot be ignored. We will have to shake them out for our own security. And Malgalad's folk hold the crossing; they must defend it from outlaws who would hinder trade, for it is too important to us and to the men of the Vale. Why bring such burdens upon ourselves?"  
  
"We shall be well compensated for our part, Adar."  
  
"Be wary, Thranduil, that you do not trade peace for want of gold," the King cautioned.  
  
Thranduil had a ready answer to his father's objections, but paused strategically, pretending to consider the question. "I hope that is not the case. Our peace may depend on such a plan, for we are pressed by _Hadhodrond_.* The dwarves regret that we have come among the wood folk, as they would not have the elves united in trade with them."  
  
The Noldorin emissary had not expected such resistance from elves. He knew that the men living southeast of the woods would set high the price of their cooperation, as some of their people were the thieves who had nearly destroyed the Dorwinion wine trade. In Eryn Galen, Húlarn expected more cooperation. One might excuse his ignorance of ancient elven grievances; he was young, born in Eregion, and there none were eager to recall enmity for which their lord's father and close kin were largely responsible.  
  
Húlarn had come to Tharbad some twenty years ago, acting as a liaison between the High King's outpost and the men of the town, and like others of his clan, had little contact with Oropher's people before they went east. Now he understood that such isolation had been by design.  
  
The King's son at last returned. "We are prepared to allow passage through our lands, if our kinsman Malgalad in Lindórinand** wills it also. He has taken to wife a princess of that land and we interfere little with the rule of his fief,** and the crossing at Parth Celebrant is held by his people."  
  
As Thranduil had foreseen, mention of the stunted folk, for whom the former subjects and kin of Thingol had no great love, had decided his father in favor of the plan. During their years on the Gwathló, Thranduil had become a shrewd negotiator. Like his late mother, he saw the necessity of maintaining ties to other peoples, even to the dwarves and the Noldor. But wine and gold motivated Thranduil's diplomacy less than a concern dear to his heart - and to the heart of his sister.  
  


**~~~**

  
"Ah, _Cugu_,* long have I awaited you and the tidings you bring." The elf-maid took the parchment from the bird's leg and unrolled it carefully. As she started to read, insistent cooing interrupted her. "Alas, my apologies, Cugu, you will want your reward. I was too eager to have news of my captain." Having fed and watered the messenger, Laigil turned again to her letter.  
  
"It is a poor letter, for I was too happy in anticipation of your fair face to pay mind to my writing."  
  
Laigil turned, transported with joy at the sight of the raven-haired elf. "But I did not see you with the others of Tharbad."  
  
"I wished to surprise you, but I did not think it wise to do so in front of your father."  
  
"That indeed would have been awkward." She frowned, recalling the reason for their long separation.  
  
"Let us not speak on this tonight, and be happy in each other's company. Our errand here is finished, and I must move on tomorrow, but if we are as successful with your kinsman in Lindórinand, I shall soon be passing this way regularly in guard of the tradesmen who hope to resume the wine trade. But Laigil, I shall have a silver ring** on your finger before Yule, you may depend on it."  
  
**Autumn - 932 Second Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
Yule peeked through the gold and red forest, its arrival whispered in the cold winds from the north. Feeling the growing roundness of her belly, Laigil knew that she and her love were long past a decent betrothal. It was her hope that Málissë would soon return, as he had promised in June, with the harvest wines, for she could not much longer conceal her condition.  
  
The elves changed their summer emerald greens for the browns and twilight greens of autumn, and at feasts and when he sat as their King in his hall, Oropher wore a traditional crown of vines, woven with cranberries and red leaves from the turning maple.** It was a busy time for the elves, for no nearby town might provide through a harsh winter. With squirrels, they fought a good-natured battle for nuts, but bears, fat and happy in a forest well tended by the wood folk, were more gracious in sharing the autumn fruits and berries. Trout they caught and salted for preservation, they gathered mushrooms to trade to the Fallohides for gourds and other autumn vegetables, and apples from their orchards were destined to become dwarven cider ale; in return, the elves obtained the iron and mithril needed by their smiths. Soft elven cloth was traded for grains grown by the men in the upper Vale, though the _Ivonwin_** alone cultivated the special corn used to make lembas.  
  
The completion of the corn harvest marked the beginning of the Autumn Festival, and the Noldor arrived with the promised wines only on the eve of the merrymaking. Already they had completed one journey in the early summer, and this would be the last journey before the New Year arrived with spring, for winter was hard on the plains between Dorwinion and the Fords of Isen. Caught up in the gay mood of the elves as they looked forward to days of feasting and song, Oropher suffered the travelers with relatively good grace; moreover, it would be unthinkably discourteous to turn them away from the celebration.  
  
Laigil watched the dancers, relieved that the planning of such a feast, time-consuming even if one set aside the labor-intensive rituals of the corn harvest, had become Berinaeth's worry. Her sister's efficiency and confidence in delegating duties made the work behind the festival as seamless as the festival itself. As one of the Ivonwin, she had been busy herself, but the work, automatic after a thousand harvests, had been comforting this fall amid her inner turmoil.  
  
"Yavanna** has been extra bountiful this year, I see," a low voice whispered in her ear. Laigil's fair skin blushed pink, but her eyes betrayed her fears. "_Melethen_,* surely your father cannot be such a tyrant that you are unhappy in this blessed time."  
  
"Nay, but this complicates matters. My father will be very angry." They walked toward the edge of the clearing in the village, and Laigil caught her brother's eye before they slipped away from the festivities. He would make excuses for her should she be looked for.  
  
"I have not told anyone," Laigil confessed.  
  
Málissë found it difficult to reconcile Laigil's anxiety with the silver-haired King, who walked freely among his people at the feast, no circlet of gold but a crown of vines on his head. He had watched Oropher for some time, partly awaiting a moment to bring Laigil away beyond keen elven hearing, and partly to take a measure of the elf who had so long kept them apart. Oropher hardly seemed forbidding or severe. His people were evidently devoted to him and he to them.  
  
In truth, it was Laigil he did not understand well. In this he was not alone, for many failed to understand the timid elf. Her fears of her father's disapproval and disappointment had grown over the years of secrecy, becoming terrible in her mind. She knew well the King's quick temper and his deep grief for her mother. But if Laigil could be easily frightened into inaction, it was Málissë's way to be forthright. He had survived the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the fall of his city and the third Kinslaying in Arvernien. He was a warrior by trade; to hesitate was to die.  
  
And so he privately resolved to speak to her father that very evening on the matter, for he saw that Laigil would delay this until the child she carried told the truth to all. That he could not abide, for it seemed cowardly and unworthy of the lady to abandon her to this fate, though it might be of her own making. Suggesting that they should mingle, and not be too long absent from the merrymaking, Málissë persuaded Laigil to return to the clearing. A minstrel had begun the long Lay of Leithian, and while his beloved absorbed herself in the song, Málissë sought the King.  
  
"If I might speak to you in private, sire." He followed Oropher to his library, unadorned except by a beautifully rendered portrait. Málissë assumed that the subject was the much-lamented Anórieth. The ascetic surroundings contrasted sharply with Thranduil's luxurious furnishings, Málissë noted, realizing that the son he had come to know well would offer few clues to the temperament of the father.  
  
"This will be our final journey of the year," he began, deciding it best to handle matters of business first. "We will likely leave Tharbad at the New Year, or perhaps shortly before, for as you know, the winters there are shorter. My return thither is necessary, though it is not my wish, for I leave my heart here, in your home." He paused. "Laigil has become dear to me, and as she shares my affection, it is our wish to be bound one to the other."  
  
Oropher looked coldly upon the Noldo. "I have extended my hospitality to you, though your people have done grave injury to mine, and you repay me by seducing my daughter?"  
  
Málissë was not favored by an even temper. "Recall that it was an elf of Doriath who brought my city to ruin, lord." From the village below he could hear the minstrel tell of that place and of another pair of star-crossed lovers in the distant past. "But it does us no good to blame one another for actions for which neither of us, nor our close kin, are responsible," he continued, swallowing his anger. "And it is unfair to your daughter to suggest that she might be seduced or enchanted beyond her will, for she knows her own mind."  
  
Oropher considered this. "In the latter you speak rightly, and respectfully of my daughter. Yet, I am wary. You have known each other only a short time," he hedged.  
  
"In truth, lord, I have known your daughter much longer, from your years in Tharbad -." He broke off, as Oropher's expression darkened.  
  
"I see that I have been deceived." He called to an elf waiting outside. "Galion,** summon my children."  
  
"I am grieved enough that this _Golodh_* should take advantage of my good will," Oropher began, when Galion had returned with his son and daughters, "but more so that my own children should use the guise of trade and put my people at risk for such wholly selfish ends."  
  
"If we have been less than frank with you, it is your own doing," Thranduil said curtly.  
  
Oropher held up a hand to silence him. "What is done is done, but my trust is shaken. As for you," he turned to Málissë, "you will wait long before I will consent to my daughter's betrothal to one who has proved faithless."  
  
"And if we had been forthright from the beginning, you would still find a pretext to keep us apart. This has nothing to do with Málissë and everything to do with your hatred of his people!" Laigil accused.  
  
Oropher looked at his daughter pityingly. "It is not that I overlook your happiness, Laigil. But a dog proved vicious shall eventually turn on its master. If he would treat with your father thus, be warned that he will do likewise with you, once you are in his grasp."  
  
"Hear your daughter's words, lord. Your bias impairs your judgment. You do not know me enough to cast such aspersions on my honor."  
  
"You have no honor," Oropher responded. "You are not welcome in my home or lands. You will be gone from here when morning breaks."  
  
"Why is he so unreasonable? _Naneth_* herself was half-Noldor, we are a quarter," Laigil fumed in the privacy of her rooms.  
  
"Ai, Laigil, he will never forgive them the loss of our mother, and he will never forgive himself for failing to heed your warning and sending you both to Menegroth. But most of all, he distrusts them, for even the children of Finarfin placed loyalty to Fëanor's sons over loyalty to their own mother's kin and to the _Belain_.**"  
  
"That he must overcome, for your child is a Noldo, and an innocent," Berinaeth said softly, laying her hand on her sister's arm, having guessed the burden she bore.  
  
Thranduil looked stricken. "Perhaps my father is right to judge you faithless," he turned on Málissë.  
  
"Of faithfulness you are perhaps not the best judge, lord," the captain answered in kind.  
  
"_Nuitho hin!_* I will hear no more of this bickering. It is unseemly of you both." Laigil sat down miserably. Such confrontations made her sick at heart. It was not in her nature to act contrary to her father's wishes and the conventions of her people. It seemed that every choice she made led her deeper into this tangle of deceit.  
  
Berinaeth glared at Thranduil and Málissë. "Out! You are neither of you doing her any good." When the two had retreated before her wrath, she turned again to Laigil. "You must tell your father. He shall see that you are bound in the eyes of the Belain, and whatever his faults may be, he is righteous, and keeps the laws they have made for us."  
  
In the meantime, two rather shamed elves found a bottle of wine that survived the feasting of the evening, and soon came to a truce between brothers. "I will speak to my father in the morning. He is angry now, but he will be less so, and shall see that there is little to be done in any case, though I dare say he will harbor some grief toward you in this matter."  
  
"Nay, it is best that I take my leave. I do not wish to inflame him further; it upsets your sister, and I must in any case return to Tharbad."  
  


**~~~**

  
Oropher passed a sleepless night, for he now regretted his temper. The coldness of Thingol, who would send his daughter's love to his death, or trade her hand for a cursed jewel, haunted him. It was a much-humbled King who made his way to his own daughter's rooms, only to meet his son in the corridor.  
  
"She is gone," Thranduil said flatly, an accusing fire in his eyes. "You have driven her away with this unforgiving hatred you harbor. Your desire for redress of age-old wrongs will destroy you and us with you. It will not bring my mother back."  
  
"Laigil will be found. She must be with him, and the caravans travel slowly," Oropher murmured prayerfully. Yet, a question of the guards who watched the path revealed that the Noldor had left the citadel at first light, and Laigil had not been with them. A look of shared horror passed between father and son as they realized that she had gone by the other way, and therefore had traveled alone by night. Oropher needed no reminder of the fell creatures that prowled under cover of darkness; in his mind, he saw a dozen terrible fates for his daughter.  
  
The caravans had long left the village below the citadel. Absorbed in his concerns, Málissë did not see Laigil until they passed her on the path. The captain signaled a halt, to the dismay of his group, for they were weary of the road and had yet many leagues to go.  
  
"I mean to come with you. But we must hurry, for it is certain that I am already looked for."  
  
"How came it that you were not seen to leave?"  
  
"I left by night - there is a secret way."  
  
"Laigil, you should not have done this. These woods are not safe at night. Even in his anger your father was not so heartless as to bid us depart until light."  
  
"I have lived in the woods nearly all my life."  
  
"But the woods near Tharbad did not conceal orcs and wolves." He looked away down the path, innocent in the bright morning. His heart would steal his love away as she bid; his better sense warned him against this. "I know you love your father, and I would not take you from him or from your people, nor would I have you bear our child among those who are strange to you."  
  
Before Laigil could press her case, silent archers materialized from the forest. Brónalm stepped forward. "The King bids the return of his daughter and the captain."  
  
"Our captain is no subject of your King, but answers to the High King of our people. He has done no wrong to be thus taken."  
  
"It is right, Húlarn. I will go with them, for I have unfinished business here. Take my place and go forth, for winter does not tarry and you must make haste.  
  
"If that be your will," Málissë continued, turning to Laigil, who nodded her assent. Brónalm followed silently behind the pair, his sight fastened firmly on the interloper. His allegiance to his King and his King's family was absolute, and he allowed the Noldo to walk freely only by Oropher's orders. By leading Laigil into danger, Málissë had earned his wrath, and it would be many years before the _Cûcherdir_*would forgive the captain.  
  
Oropher met them on the winding path that led to the citadel and held his daughter silently, thanking Elbereth that she was unharmed. "Come, it seems there is much we have not discussed."  
  
When all had been gathered, Laigil summoned her courage and spoke first. "Adar, you have my love and loyalty as your daughter, but I have seen well over a millennium in years of the sun and I am no longer a child you can order about. I will follow my heart in this, though it may part us." She trembled slightly at her strong words, but her pale grey eyes did not waver from her father's face.  
  
"_Laigil, sell alag, vell nîn!_* You must think little of your father that I would sunder myself from you rather than see you bound in opposition to my will." He turned a slightly stern look on Málissë, "it seems we are past the time of betrothal, but perhaps we may have you properly bound."  
  
Thranduil smiled gratefully at his wife. While he and Brónalm had taken different paths to waylay the caravans, Berinaeth had worked wonders with his father. Now Oropher placed the hand of his daughter in that of her beloved and spoke the words of the simple ceremony** that had been custom among the _Laegrim_* since Doriath was strong.  
  
_"Estam Aran Einior, Aran e-Thûl Gardh. Lasto nan-gwaedh hen."_ ["We call (the) Elder King (Manwë), King of the Breath of Arda. Hear this oath."]  
  
_"Estam Elbereth Gilthoniel. Lasto nan-gwaedh hen,"_ Berinaeth invoked the star-goddess. ["We call Elbereth Star-kindler. Hear this oath."]  
  
_"Daer vilui nîn, an nen gwedhin im,"_ Laigil followed. Ordinarily, the groom would speak next, but she knew Málissë would be unfamiliar with this ceremony. ["My loving groom, to you I bind me."]  
  
_"Dineth vilui nîn, an nen gwedhin im."_ ["My loving bride, to you I bind me."]  
  
_"A Belain! Tangado i erthad hen im Hîn Eru. Tiro den, togo den a berio den. 'Alu lîn anno a cherth dîn a nan-hîn ennin o erthad dîn,"_ Oropher finished. ["O Valar! Affirm this union between Children of Eru. Watch over them, lead them and protect them. Your blessings, give to their household and to the children born of their union."]  
  
"Let there be no more secrets among us."  
  
**1250 Second Age, Forlond**  
  
Gil-galad considered the news from his kinswoman carefully. That something evil arose in Arda, he had known for some time. But he did not know if this Annatar** was its servant or master, or if Annatar was even connected to this evil. He had turned away Annatar's representatives, and most recently the Maia himself, and Círdan, too, had spurned him, but Gil-galad had no cause but vague ill feelings. Now he spoke against him in Eregion, giving the High King concrete reason to be wary of Annatar. Galadriel** could not recall him among the Maiar she had known in Aman; she knew far more of such matters than he. Clearly, Annatar brewed trouble and discontent. That an elf, who had dwelt in Aman and might therefore be more wise, had fallen under his spell was disquieting. If Celebrimbor might be so easily deceived, how then would lesser elves such as the Sindar who ruled in Belfalas** and Eryn Galen resist? And those lords were predisposed to distrust the King of the Noldor; Celebrimbor he had counted an ally.  
  
He must let Galadriel and Celeborn handle the trouble in Eregion, as well as they might. Lest it spread, however, he thought to warn the other elves in Eriador and the lands beyond - a sticky matter, as most were neither his people nor had he authority in their lands. For this, he would rely on his most trusted counselor.  
  
"Elrond, I have a task for you."  
  
**1250 Second Age, Erin Galen**  
  
Amon Lanc rose sharply above the forest, a fortress unassailable by stealth. Wild flowers and small scrub covered the steep inclines. In the rocky soil, few other plants would grow, even on the flat hilltop. There the citadel had been made, fortified in Lenwë's time by dwarven stonemasons. It was old even as elves reckoned; all that the Eldar** had made before Morgoth's defeat was now lost, but Amon Lanc still bloomed each spring.  
  
The approach was unguarded, but a single path made the ascent from the ground, and on the naked slopes, with no trees for cover, any who took the path must be seen from the ramparts of the citadel. Only birds of flight could otherwise scale the steep hill. The lone path, then, would be well watched, Elrond knew, and he was not surprised when a blond elf and his guard emerged from a sharp turn in the path.  
  
"_Daro!_* What brings you to Erin Galen, stranger?"  
  
"_Tegin hiniath o chîr nîn, i Daur Gil-galad._*"  
  
"_Buiam ú-chîr dan Aran vîn.*_ What business has the King of the Noldor with the elves of the wood?"  
  
"I would speak on this to your King. It is a matter of some discretion."  
  
Caunolas nodded at his guard. "Let them go forth." He walked swiftly up the hill before the delegation, forcing the visitors to scramble behind him, and passed through the gates of the walled citadel atop the hill. The young elf was careful to show in his manner and voice that the High King carried no weight here. His grandfather had taught him well. "I will see if the King will speak with you."  
  
Elrond knew already that his kinsmen did not share his regard for the High King. If they were truly hostile to Forlond, Annatar would find willing ears at Amon Lanc. And many, many elves, for though he thought himself ignored by the High King, Oropher held in his sway a significant portion of the elves remaining in Arda. Precisely for these reasons had Gil-galad chosen Elrond to handle this matter. Not only did he have faith in the Peredhel's skill, but also he hoped that the heir to Thingol's lost kingdom might yet hold some influence with the Sindarin king.  
  
Thus, this diplomacy was delicate - if Oropher sensed that the High King attempted to usurp his authority, he might be made more susceptible to Annatar's words against Gil-galad. Worse, he might seek out the Maia in hope of overthrowing Gil-galad.  
  
Elrond was not reassured by the cold look of suspicion cast upon him by the King of Erin Galen. Nonetheless, Oropher sent Galion to see to the delegation and their horses and greeted his kinsman politely.  
  
Elrond told him of the visitor distrusted by both his King and, perhaps more persuasive to Oropher, by Círdan. "It is his claim that he is a Maia sent by the Valar to aid us, but we are told that in Eregion he has been no friend to either the High King or Círdan."  
  
"And Gil-galad would count his friends, and win allies against this threat," Oropher surmised.  
  
"He would warn his kindred that Annatar is not all that he seems."  
  
"What leads your King to distrust him? Is he not a Maia?"  
  
"He is. But it is not our experience that the Valar send messengers to set the Eldar against one another. Even when the Exiles came hither, under the Doom of Mandos, the Valar did nothing to warn the Sindar against them."  
  
"Indeed. To the great suffering of many innocents."  
  
"Myself among them, Oropher."  
  
The King acknowledged this with a nod. "You may tell your King that we are neither his ally nor his enemy, and wish to have no part in the intrigues of our kindred in the west. Nor will we harbor those who would sow discord in other realms, and thereby jeopardize our peace."  
  
Elrond decided that he had accomplished as much as he could hope.  
  
"You and your company are welcome to tarry here ere you begin your long journey back."  
  
Elrond quickly accepted the unlooked for offer. A day or two in the citadel might give him a better measure of this people and their King.  
  
"You may be interested to know that this Annatar has already passed through here," Oropher added, as the elf-lord turned to leave.  
  
Elrond raised his eyebrow inquiringly.  
  
"I did not receive him.** Even my young grandson knows malicious intent when it stands before him. He would not admit him to the citadel."  
  
'At least I may tell Gil-galad that if he would not be received warmly here, he should at least be well-fed,' Elrond thought dryly, enjoying the fine feast laid before him; it seemed that the King's son was a bit of a gourmand. After the meal and some melodic singing by the Wood Elves, he hastened toward his rooms, for together with their journey through the forest, it had been a long day. He was, however, hailed by Thranduil.  
  
"_Herdir_* Elrond! Would you walk with me?"  
  
He nodded his assent, and the elf-lord led him to the ramparts of the citadel. It was a marvelous view. In the distance, Elrond could pick out the dark water of the Anduin, and a few lights in the Vale, where the simple but honest Northmen lived. The shadow of Hithaeglir towered high against the _elenath_*.  
  
Moved, Elrond spoke softly. "They seem almost brighter here than in the west."  
  
"My father says that it is the influence of the wood folk, for more than all other elves they keep the Lady sacred in their hearts and love the stars as deeply as all of the Quendi did once at Cuiviénen.**"  
  
Elrond was mildly surprised to hear the Quenya words.  
  
"Doriath is no more," Thranduil continued, as though he perceived the other elf's thoughts. "I cannot say that I am fond of the _Golodhrim_, or _Gódhellim_,* if you prefer. There is an air of superiority about them that I do not like. Pride is blinding. But so too is hate."  
  
"You speak wisely, _Hîl Oropher_.*"  
  
"Do not misjudge my father. He lost much at the hands of the Kinslayers, and it is not in his nature to forgive easily. But he cares deeply for his people, and though he will not ally himself with the High King, he will not permit this shadow to taint them. Already we have troubles with the fell creatures and men who followed Morgoth. Whether this Annatar is connected to them or merely another trouble, I do not know, but he reeks of the _Bauglir_.* My sister did not like the air when he tried to come here, and said it felt as if a shadow had fallen away when he left."  
  
Elrond decided to be candid. "He is very powerful, that we know. And he has had success in Eregion. There he has been welcomed. Celebrimbor is hardly naïve, nor, I think, does he share the depravity of his father. But pride, as you say, is a fault in the Noldor and in Fëanor's descendants more so.  
  
"It is not known to us whether Annatar is a part of the shadow or not," Elrond continued. "But the shadow is real. And you may find that you cannot shun Lindon forever. The fate of all elves may rest in our unity. This lesson was taught with great loss of life in the Elder Days."  
  
Thranduil turned from the ramparts to look directly at Elrond. "Your King may rest easy that the wood folk shall not take up arms against their kindred, not while my father leads them, nor will we ally ourselves with the shadow. But it is nearer to us, and we have troubles that yet do not cross Hithaeglir. We may be imperiled before you are, and our first concern must be our own people and lands."  
  
**1600 Second Age, Ost-in-Edhil**  
  
The smith wearily removed his apron, brushing soot and mithril filings from his hair and face. Uneasy, he glanced about him in the dark House of the Mírdain. "_Hîren_,* is there naught else you require?" a servant asked, startling the lord of Eregion.  
  
"Nay, you may leave."  
  
He heard the servant depart by the distant door, and all was silent again. He turned to follow, still uneasy, when the air at once took on weight, and eddied about him in quicksilver's macabre animation. A roar of wind filled his head. His hand - no, the ring, Vilya, burned into his flesh, and a scratching whisper filled the thickened space about him: _"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."_**  
  
Celebrimbor tore the ring of air from his seared finger, crying "Sauron!"  
  
**1602 Second Age, Lindórinand**  
  
In hope of rapprochement with his estranged kinsman, Malgalad sent tidings to Celeborn and Galadriel, inviting them to the naming ceremony of his first child. As was the custom among the descendants of Elmo, he had given his son a tree-name, Ambrethil. When the elf-child grew a bit older, and revealed his delight in tree climbing and high places, the name would be shortened to Amroth.  
  
As for the ancient lord and his lady, they had returned to Eregion after a long stay in Lindon. Celeborn was pleased to mend relations with his brother-son. They had once been close, when Malgalad was a child. Few remained of his close kin, and though he loved his fiery cousin, their troubled history had kept them apart; he hardly knew Oropher's family. It was imperative, however, that he speak to his cousin regarding the matter that had brought him back to Eregion and chilled his heart, even on this happy occasion. Retiring from the feast to the rooms Oropher occupied during his rare visits to Lindórinand, he turned the conversation toward the growing shadow in the east.  
  
"Celeborn, what has only been rumor and tale of travelers to you has long been known to us here. You need not tell me that dark times have arrived. I have six elves in our healer's quarters with poisoned wounds. Three I shall likely lose. We hear the wolves howl at night, prowling the village below the citadel. Malgalad can tell you of his troubles. He has moved his people nearly to the edge of the Anduin to escape the orcs who have taken up residence in the mountains. And they are multiplying fast. It is certain that they prepare for war." Oropher took up a decanter and began to pour.  
  
"Circumstances have changed, my cousin. There has been a stroke of which you are not yet aware. I come not to challenge your authority, but to do what I can to help you."  
  
"And thereby bring us under obligation to your King."  
  
Celeborn took the proffered glass of wine from his cousin. "In fact, it may be the other way around. If orcs prepare for war, lands to the west are those in jeopardy. Much harm has been done in Eregion. Celebrimbor was much deceived. For we know now the true face of the Maia Annatar, who in Beleriand we called _Gorthaur_.*"  
  
Oropher grimaced. "These are ill tidings you bring. But surely even the son of Curufin would not ally himself with Morgoth's lieutenant."  
  
"Nay, his mistake weighs heavily upon him. His intentions were good. But things of which I may not speak freely have augmented the power of Gorthaur, and he would surely turn first upon Eregion."  
  
"And if left in peace, orcs breed quickly. You would have my people harry and hinder them. That we will not do. We drive them from my realm, and we help the men in the Vale as we can. But I will not bring my people down a path that must surely lead to war; certainly, not for the sake of the King of the Noldor."  
  
"They must be restrained by Gorthaur. He would not wish them to attack the elves until he is ready."  
  
"Nay, I know more of these filthy creatures than you, my cousin. We had little threat of them in Doriath, and you have lived far from them in the west. They are thralls to their dark lord - they do not love him but fear him, and hate elves above all. If pressed, they will come against us in force, whether Gorthaur wills it or no. We are but a simple folk here. My people know the woods, and I would match their bows against the finest archers of your King's army, but their skills are in stealth and watchfulness, not open warfare.  
  
"I brought my family and our people to mingle with the Wood Elves far from Lindon to be free from exactly this," Oropher continued. "The Noldor seem to have a talent for stirring this sort of trouble. What have they done now, that you must hide from me in the hopes of gaining my help?"  
  
"I am not at liberty to speak on such things."  
  
Oropher allowed himself a grim smile; it was not often that he outwitted his cousin. Celeborn had all but revealed that whatever the Noldor had been up to in Eregion, it had been to the benefit of Gorthaur. "If Gil-galad is so concerned that Gorthaur prepares for war, why does he not assail him now?"  
  
"The High King may be accused of underestimating Annatar. For a century, he has been quiet, and none knew his identity until now. We are not prepared for war. We need time." Celeborn stared into the fire, the foreboding in his heart as insistent as ever. He had counseled the High King to be forthright with his kindred at least, if not Númenor, regarding the rings of power. His cousin, he knew, would be quick to blame the Noldor for this debacle - as he did already - but he would be wise enough to see that the One Ring imperiled them all.  
  
**1697 Second Age, Lindórinand**  
  
Malgalad looked pityingly on the battle-worn elves. He would have liked to be angry with Celeborn for bringing these _Gelydh_* to his land, but he could only find sympathy. He remembered too well their flight from Doriath. Many of the elves were anxious for their kin, hoping that they had escaped with Elrond. They had no way to learn of their fate. Others already grieved, the lone survivors of their families. Their city lost, they stood with Celeborn and Galadriel and the dwarves of Khazad-dûm, distracting Sauron's forces so that Elrond and the refugees might escape. They had backed into the dwarven city and shut the doors against Sauron, and made the long journey through the mountain to Lindórinand.  
  
The Noldorination of Lindórinand had begun.  
  
Not all welcomed the arrival of Celeborn and Galadriel, or those who had followed them. The Sindar had come to them desiring to preserve the Wood Elves' way of life. Indeed, they had lived so long among the Laegrim that some had never known any other way. The Sindar brought their knowledge of the Valar and Elven history, and a written language and smiths who could make tools and weapons of metal. But there was an exchange of information. Though Oropher and his family already knew much wood lore, and were respectful of Silvan customs regarding the harvesting of trees and hunting of beasts for food, they had much to learn in this new place. Nor did they look upon the elves of Erin Galen as mere vassals. Brónalm and a handful of others counted among the King's close counselors.  
  
The Noldor lived in their great past; their songs and stories told of Aman and the great battles of the Elder Days. The culture already present among the Wood Elves they dismissed. Galadriel had long desired a realm to rule as her own, but she was not insensitive to Malgalad's claim. It was not her intent to usurp Celeborn's brother-son. She installed herself in Lindórinand with a mind toward guiding the land through troubled times, and Malgalad appreciated her wisdom, though he might have felt otherwise had he known the danger Galadriel brought to his land. However, among the Noldor, she was their ruler. The Wood Elves were awed by Galadriel, but loyal to their lord, and were not so simpleminded as the Noldor believed. The newcomers quietly supplanted them in the arenas of power, not by intent but habit - to lead was the Noldorin birthright. It was during this uneasy time that the Wood Elves came to call Malgalad their King, and Galadriel, hoping that a shift toward independence would mend the rift among the peoples of Lindórinand and weaken ties to her husband's hostile cousin, supported this.  
  
None of this sat easily with the hostile cousin. Oropher distrusted Galadriel. He saw her ambition, and feared it would not be long before his own realm was threatened. The years had not lessened Oropher's antipathy toward her; rather, he condemned her more since her refusal to ask the pardon of the Valar. She had done no wrong, she insisted, though at very least she had conspired to hide the deeds of the Kinslayers from Thingol. This secret had weighed heavy on the heart of Anórieth's grandfather, Angrod. Unlike his sister, he could not keep his silence, for his kinship to his mother's people he placed before loyalty to Fëanor's sons.  
  
As for Lindórinand, even if Malgalad asked for his help, he could do but little. He could not force Galadriel and his cousin from the land. He would not pit elf against elf, and in any event, he retained loyalty to Celeborn. More troubles bothered him. Khazad-dûm, having shut its door on Gorthaur, was flexing its strength, and Galadriel had called upon them to help defend the crossing at Parth Celebrant. But one more fear finally drove him to the decision to move deeper into the forest. The war, what little news they had of the lands to the west, went poorly for the elves. Those who lived in the citadel were well-protected, but the scattered villages of Oropher's people were not, and they were too close to the orcs' stronghold in the mountains and to the open plains south of the forest, where resided men easily bought by Gorthaur.  
  
If his kindred in the west had hope, it lay in their enemy's divided attention. Though he did not bring open warfare against the elves of the Vale and wood, many of Gorthaur's servants remained beyond the mountains. They directed most of their efforts against Lindórinand, with its remnant of the Noldor of Eregion, and against Khazad-dûm, perhaps in retaliation, but Oropher suspected that Gorthaur had a specific purpose. The Maia had been thus far too patient and cautious to now waste energy on revenge, especially when his strength seemed frighteningly unassailable. Gorthaur wanted something.  
  
Númenor came in the High King's hour of need, and by 1700, they had driven Gorthaur from Eriador and he had returned to the east to lick his wounds. But he was not defeated. Oropher's folk could not ignore the brooding presence too near their lands. The orcs who had deserted their dark lord in defeat looked for victory elsewhere. Lindórinand, for the moment, was united, for both the Silvan and Noldorin factions were equally fervent in their hatred of orcs. Unhappy with his own security, Oropher moved his people again. This he intended to be temporary, for they lived much as the Laegrim had lived many centuries earlier, well-hidden in the trees and without permanent dwellings. Thranduil he sent north with Brónalm to the _Emyn Duir_.* He intended to build a stronghold in the hills, for there they would be deep in the forest and far from the orc caves in Hithaeglir. There were dark times ahead for the men and elves of the Vale and the forest; Oropher needed not the warnings of his daughter or his cousin to see this.  
  
**2250 Second Age, Emyn Duir**  
  
Their new home in the Emyn Duir had been carefully concealed. Even an elf had to be nearly upon them before he could make out the huts and outbuildings in the glens of the hills. Under the cover of night, orcs, despite their keen night vision, could locate the elves only by smell, and by then, they would be spotted by their prey. Moreover, the Wood Elves, possessors of a primitive sort of magic,** had woven spells to confuse the noses of the orcs, leading them into a well-fortified trap.  
  
No paths did they make to their new home, and like the hidden cities of the Noldor an age ago, their strongest defense was secrecy. No orc would retreat alive. But orcs rarely came so near to them - the men in the Vale were easier pickings for their raids.  
  
In these circumstances, Berinaeth felt secure enough to bear a second child. Like the mother-name given to her first child, she took part of the name of their House and combined it with the traits she saw in her child. Caunolas had been a bit of a play on words; 'caun' might signify valor, and he had indeed grown into a brave leader and warrior, but it also meant 'shouts and clamor', which had suited her energetic eldest, especially as a child. For Innolas, she foresaw a different role. He would wield words as an instrument of peace and diplomacy, and his knowledge of lore and language would begin to heal some of the prejudices of his family.  
  
**2300 Second Age, Emyn Duir**  
  
Quick of mind and insatiably curious, Innolas had easily exhausted their small library and his tutor was at a loss. Having imparted most of her own learning, she found her pupil yet desiring more. "He really must be sent elsewhere to continue his studies," Helluin told the young elf's father. "There is little more that I can teach him."  
  
Thranduil saw that it would be foolish to waste his son's talents. Even in the Wilderland, the wisdom of a loremaster was as important as the skill of a warrior in rule of a kingdom. If in many ways they lived the simple life of the wood folk, they were nonetheless of the Eldar, and the desire for learning was deeply rooted in their souls. But where might they find a suitable mentor? Few tutors would come to their distant land; most resided at the Havens, the cultural nexus of their world. Or, more specifically, at the court of the High King, and to send his son thither was out of the question.  
  
Berinaeth was of like mind "What of Imladris?" she suggested to her husband. "It is said that many learned elves have settled there."  
  
"Most of them Noldor."  
  
"They are the only ones who can teach him the High Speech."  
  
"My father will not like that."  
  
"Nevertheless, he must learn it. There are scores of books in the libraries at Forlond written in it," she said wistfully. "And I learned too little of it to be of any real help."  
  
Thranduil looked at his wife with suspicion, but could not help a slight smile at her audacity. "I leave it to you, then, to smooth the way with my father," he finished, standing. "Preferably before our youngest demonstrates your limited recall of Quenya before his grandfather." Berinaeth's suggestion would be a fair compromise. Elrond, he thought, had made a favorable impression on his father, and Oropher could hardly object to the guidance of Dior's grandson.  
  
With his father and Faunil, the latter along mostly to accompany Thranduil on his return - for it was not deemed wise for any elf to travel alone - Innolas set forth for Imladris not long after his coming of age. The elves came over the Redhorn Pass, a longer route than the High Pass, but Malgalad's people kept the Redhorn open and unmolested by orcs. It was the first time Innolas had crossed Hithaeglir - the farthest he had been from home had been to the Vale with his father. Even his older brother, who was often away from home, ranging far with their cousin Nórui on the trail of orcs and wolves, had not crossed the mountains since he had come to Eryn Galen as a child. It was Thranduil's habit to keep his sons near to him. He had long had a premonition that left to go too far, they might leave their home forever.  
  
The beauty of Elrond's settlement astonished the young elf. From a besieged fortress during the war, it had become, over the last six hundred years, a place of reflection, rest and intellectual pursuit. Innolas was grateful to be given this opportunity to continue his studies. His tempestuous brother could hardly look at a book without yawning, but the well-chosen word, the one word that might convey exactly what he meant, thrilled Innolas as the dispatch of an orc might rouse his brother. He was one of the few among the Sindar who had managed to learn Silvan, though the language was dying even among its native speakers, and like most of his people, as a child he had learned the Rohirric dialect of the Northmen. He had come to love what little his mother had taught him of Quenya most, however. Though it was close to his native Sindarin, the ornate rules of grammar alone seemed to raise it to its status as a ceremonial language. To his ears it did not have the soft sound of his own tongue, but seemed harder, more precise in its pronunciation.  
  
Left to his own devices while Faunil saw to their accommodations and his sire spoke with the lord of Imladris, Innolas explored the silent halls. At home there was always the noise of an extended family sharing close quarters - the friendly arguments between Caunolas and Nórui, the sonorous voice of Málissë, settling the arguments in hope of a moment's peace, Laigil's fair voice raised in song, his grandfather shouting about some event that had angered or excited him. Innolas did not think he would dare to raise his voice above a whisper in this house. In the Hall of Fire, he saw a few elves sitting in quiet contemplation or reading from well-handled books. The vast library startled him, for he had never seen so many books; he had no idea that so many existed. Here, more serious effort was at hand. Elves had made use of every flat surface for the work of transcribing and translation, and here, at last, was noise, of the scratching of quills and occasional murmurs of discovery or disgust or puzzlement emitted by the elves as they worked. Many looked up briefly as Innolas entered their domain, and a few pairs of eyes stared hard at him before returning to their work.  
  
The young Sinda saw now Málissë's isolation as the lone Noldo among their clan - for even Nórui was, as her father put it, as 'untamed as a Wood Elf'. Some of the Noldor were as haughty as his grandfather claimed, and had little to do with the visitors from Eryn Galen. Others were more welcoming, but though Innolas was usually not shy, he stayed near to his father and the equally abashed Faunil until their departure. He felt awkward and unpolished in this place.  
  
**2326 Second Age, Imladris**  
  
"So you take your leave soon."  
  
Innolas looked up from his book. He had acquired more than a score during his sojourn, and expected much good-natured grousing from his brother when the heavy volumes had to be transported back to the Emyn Duir. "I await the arrival of my brother and cousin - they are expected by the end of the week, at latest," he replied. The elf was strange to him; Innolas assumed that he had been the visitor who had arrived late the night before.  
  
"You are eager to return?"  
  
"I miss my kin," Innolas admitted. "And it is lovely here, but it is not home."  
  
The elf smiled. "And I hate to be too long away from here, though it is not my home. Such peace is not found in Forlond. But tell me of your wood folk, for I have never seen such elves."  
  
The younger elf felt a pang of homesickness. "They are a merry folk, happy enough to while away their time at feasting and dancing, even in such dark times - though I should not know any other times," he added, painfully aware of his youth. "But so long as you do not cut their trees or upset the creatures in the forest, they are genial enough."  
  
"You have yet much trouble from these fell things of Sauron in the east." A flicker of something akin to guilt passed over the elf's features.  
  
"Aye, though I am told we were more threatened when we lived further south. Now we must be watchful when we travel, but our dwellings are well hidden."  
  
"We lived so at Nargothrond, when I was yet younger than you. But there we lived underground, as your grandfather's kin did in Doriath. I went once there with my grandfather, though I was then a small child, and remember little, save that I was very frightened of Thingol. He was the tallest elf I had ever seen - some say he was the tallest of all our kind - and he moved about quite brusquely. I feared I should be trampled underfoot."  
  
Innolas laughed. "My father has said the same of him. It must have been a fascinating time in which to live."  
  
The dark-haired elf frowned. "Do not let my people deceive you. They speak now with longing of those days, but they forget the sorrows. Your ancestors, who were called wise, nonetheless brought about their own ruin." He smiled, "Save Círdan, that is. I do not think he has ever done anything unwise or selfish.  
  
"Many great princes of Finwë's House came here in Exile, but all perished and left no heirs, apart from Turgon, in whose descendant's house we now speak, and Angrod, whose line shall continue only through his daughter, I think." The elf paused, his sight fixed on something far beyond their idyllic surroundings. "And perhaps that is best. The Noldor have not the simple pleasure in Arda that is the gift of the Sindar; we are too rigid to accept the changes made by men, and too regretful to find joy, as your Silvan people do, even under the shadow."  
  
A messenger interrupted them, and after a moment of quiet conversation, the strange elf nodded to the young Sinda and was gone. Much of what he had heard Innolas knew, or had learned during his stay at Imladris. The follies of both the Sindar and Noldor had inspired his grandfather to seek semi-autonomy in Doriath and to move his family ever eastward during the Middle Days. Yet, the legacy of Innolas' ancestors was inescapable. Though they had shunned the Eldar and adopted the ways of their mostly Avarin people, they were, nonetheless, part of the complicated web that connected the first families of the elves, those chosen to lead the Firstborn as kings and loremasters.  
  


**~~~**

  
Caunolas and Nórui arrived as expected, and an unlucky packhorse was selected to bear Innolas' books. The elven horse tossed his mane at the other horses, clearly pointing out that he bore as much weight as his brethren who carried riders. The elves laughed at the display of horse hierarchy. "One wonders what they would do if we switched the pack to Bund-thâr and Innolas rode Cóllain," Nórui speculated on their third day of the journey.  
  
Caunolas, being more adventurous - or perhaps more foolhardy - than his father, had chosen the High Pass for their return, but their ride over the sometimes perilous - but breathtakingly beautiful - route was uneventful.  
  
"Something is keeping the orcs quiet of late," Caunolas noted, there having been no sign of the ugly creatures on the pass. "The men in the Vale have some respite, though they are nervous, and speak of something foul from the north."  
  
"But Sauron** abodes in the south, or so it is thought."  
  
Caunolas looked briefly at his brother, responding to the dark lord's Quenya name. "You have been long away from home, my brother. But indeed, we determined to see the gardens of the Entwives after delivering wine to Lindórinand last summer, and in the south of the Wilderland the shadow is stronger, and the men more evil."  
  
"I should have liked to have seen such gardens. Brónalm has spoken much of the Entwives."  
  
"You must come with us the next time we go," Nórui suggested. "And Lindórinand, that you must see, for it is much changed. They have planted a new tree there, a tree that does not lose its leaves in the winter but remains golden from fall to spring. Some have commenced to call it Lórinand, in honor of the golden trees."  
  
"But not all are pleased," Caunolas interjected sharply. "Amroth tells me that the wood folk love the mallorns,** but warn that the lack of mulch on the ground over the winter is bad for the soil and grass. Some of the smaller plants have disappeared, and the Noldor cut maples and oaks to replace them with the golden trees. Of course, such things do not trouble Galadriel; even Celeborn has tried to tell her of these problems, but she understands nothing of the ways of the wood."  
  
It was early evening, and they had made good time since breaking camp on the pass. They thought to stop in a dense thicket along the dwarf road to the forest, but as they drew near, the three elves felt a chill in the air, odd for the warm summer evening.  
  
"Something I do not like is in the air," Caunolas murmured, his elven senses alert but gathering nothing he could see or hear.  
  
Nórui agreed. "We are watched, but by what, I cannot say. It is not orcs or wolves. This thing is more powerful." The horses were skittish and unnerved; clearly, they felt this, too.  
  
"Let us go on to Laffirien, though night falls." As they drew nearer the bridge,** the fell shadow lessened. If they had been watched, they had not been pursued.  
  


**~~~**

  
For he would not pursue elves - they and all that was elven was an abomination to the creature. He had not the power over them that he had over other beings, even less over children of the Eldar, of ancient and noble bloodlines. He could cleave and kill them with his sword, but so might their elven blades do the same to him, and the terror wrought by a wraith in thralldom to the Dark Lord did not daunt immortal beings. So he watched, and he waited, and when they were well past, he continued his journey to the little-used pass at the Gladden River, for into Eriador, from the dominion he had long held in the north, was he called by his King.**  
  
  


* * *

  
* _Adar_  

    Father  

* _Hadhodrond_  

    Original Sindarin name of Khazad-dûm, as told in _The Silmarillion_. This is a bit of an error on Tolkien's part in _LOTR_, I think. Gimli notes that it "is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue", (ref. p 276, pub. Houghton Mifflin) indicating that Tolkien already thought of 'Moria' as a name acquired after the Balrog appeared. So why would Celebrimbor inscribe such an unflattering name on the West Door during better years?  

** Lindórinand  

    Lindórinand ('Vale of the Land of the Singers') was intended to be the original Silvan name of Lórien. Tolkien later changed the original name to Lórinand ('Valley of Gold'). This name, however, fails to consider the story of the origin of the mallorns: Tar-Aldarion gave the seeds to Gil-galad. The trees would not grow in Lindon (which is why Sam needed that special soil in _LOTR_), but Gil-galad gave the seeds to Galadriel, who was able to grow them in Lindórinand. (ref. p 265, _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn')  

** rule of his fief  

    The connection between Lórien and Oropher's people is a bit convoluted. Lórien had its Sindarin kings -Malgalad Amdír and his son, Amroth, as well as the guardianship from time to time of Galadriel and Celeborn. Yet it is also stated that it was Oropher who _"led the host of the Silvan Elves to battle"_ - including Malgalad's people from Lórien. (ref. p 270-271, _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn') The implication is that Oropher originally ruled both lands, and perhaps Lórien became progressively more estranged due to Galadriel's "intrusion" into Lórien and the gradual move of Oropher's people northeast from their first dwellings at Amon Lanc.  

* _Cugu_  

    dove  

** silver ring  

    Silver rings were exchanged by elves at their betrothal (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar')  

** traditional crown of vines woven with cranberries and red leaves from the turning maple  

    Thranduil wears this crown when Bilbo sees him in his hall in _The Hobbit_  

** _Ivonwin_  

    Maidens of Yavanna - they were the only elves allowed to handle the corn until it was made into lembas. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Of Lembas')  

** Yavanna  

    I find no reference to any of the Valar in association with birth, fertility and motherhood, but pantheistic religions often associate these elements with goddesses of the earth and harvest.  

* _Melethen_  

    My love  

** Galion  

    Galion is the hapless butler who allowed the dwarves to escape in _The Hobbit_.  

* _Golodh_  

    Noldo  

* _Naneth_  

    Mother  

** _Belain_  

    Valar. In Tolkien's world, sexual union was deemed to achieve marital union, but like many modern readers, I find it rather implausible that elves who married late or never married were celibate for thousands of years. I think, however, that it would be in the spirit of 'The Laws and Customs among the Eldar' to consider conception to create a marital bond.  

* _Nuitho hin!_  

    Stop this!  

* _Cûcherdir_  

    Bow-master  

* _Laigil, sell alag, vell nîn!_  

    Laigil, impetuous, dear daughter of mine!  

** simple ceremony  

    This is based on _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs among the Eldar' and the marriage of Beren and Lúthien in _The Silmarillion_. The ceremony itself was never told to any mortal, but called upon Manwë and Varda and included the name of Eru, used in place of 'Ilúvatar' only on such solemn occasions. Here I have used an old Celtic handfasting rite, adapted to Tolkien's world.  

* _Laegrim_  

    Green Elves (Laiquendi)  

** Annatar  

    The name taken by Sauron when he came among the elves early in the Second Age. The elves did not connect him with Morgoth's lieutenant until the One Ring was forged. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn')  

** Galadriel  

    The movements of Galadriel and Celeborn through the Second and Third Ages are told mostly in _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn'. Here, there are two contradictory histories, and some fragments that confuse the matter more. I've relied first on _LOTR_ and _The Silmarillion_ in deciding what to use. Otherwise, I have selected what seems more likely, or fits better into my story. I have chosen to place them in Eregion, with their first foray into Lórien occurring in the 1600s, and first taking up residence there in 1697, when Ost-in-Edhil fell to Sauron. This is supported by one rather obscure summary by Christopher Tolkien of an unpublished writing: _"…it is said explicitly that they both [Galadriel and Celeborn] at that time 'passed through Moria with a considerable following of Noldorin exiles and dwelt for many years in Lórien.' It is neither asserted nor denied in these late writings that Galadriel (or Celeborn) had relations with Lórien before 1697… ."_ (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 256 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  

** Belfalas  

    Tolkien wrote more than one origin for Belfalas, and the one I have used here tells of Sindar of Doriath, who left Lindon near the beginning of the Second Age to get away from the Noldor. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn')  

** Eldar  

    This word suffered a bit due to Tolkien's shifting use of it; by the time the works in _Unfinished Tales_ were written (mostly the 1960s), 'Eldar' had come to include Lenwë's group. I'm using the term to include all elves who eventually made it to Beleriand. This definition matches the use of the word in _LOTR_, 'Appendix F': _"The Elves far back in the Elder Days became divided into two main branches: the West-elves (the _Eldar_) and the East-elves. Of the latter kind were most of the elven-folk of Mirkwood and Lórien… ."_ (ref. p 1101, pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

* _Daro!_  

    Halt!  

* _Tegin hiniath o chîr nîn, i Daur Gil-galad_.  

    I bring tidings from my lord, the High King Gil-galad.  

* _Buiam ú-chîr dan Aran vîn._  

    We hold allegiance to no lord but our King. There are two words in Sindarin for 'king': _taur_ (_Daur_ above, due to lenition), used only to refer to a king of a people ('High King of the Noldor', for example), and _aran_, used for a king of a region (ie 'King of Mirkwood').  

** I did not receive him [Annatar]  

    In _The Silmarillion_, we are told that Sauron was welcomed by elves other than those in Lindon. Why, then, would Oropher not welcome the Maia, who had incurred the enmity of Gil-galad and Galadriel? I think there are two reasons: first, the one given by Oropher in this story - he wished to be free of any involvement in the intrigues of Noldorin politics. What little we are told of him tells us that he continually withdrew from conflict with the Noldor, by moving east out of Lindon and then deeper into the forest, away from Galadriel in Lórien. Second, Sauron offered little that would appeal to the Silvan folk or to the Sindar who had adopted their lifestyle. To the elves, he offered a way to stay in Middle-Earth and enjoy the bliss of Aman, by holding back time and change. Fading, the monster in the Noldorin closet, was perhaps not such a fear for Oropher's folk - as Michael Martinez writes, _"Presumably the Silvan Elves would have had little interest in preserving Middle-earth. And fading? What is fading?"_ (ref. 'Shhh! It's a secret ring!', www.suite101.com).  
  
It is significant that of the four traditional elements of the alchemists - water, air, fire and earth - the last is the only one not represented by the Elven Rings. In Wicca traditions (which vary, but are based in ancient pagan religions with which Tolkien was quite familiar), Air represents knowledge and understanding; Water - intuition, dreams and cleansing; Fire - courage, energy and creativity. These are all qualities desired and prized by the Noldor. Earth is associated with growth, fertility and nature - things prized by the Wood Elves. However, they needed no ring to preserve or create these processes, for they continued to happen around them. In later days, when Eryn Galen became Mirkwood, they might have wished for a magical ring, as the blight on their forest must have been a terrible grief to them. The cleansing of Mirkwood is probably what Galadriel offered when she tempted Legolas with the One Ring. The grandson of Oropher and son of Thranduil was well taught - he saw that his desire would only bring a different horror upon his people, and only he and Aragorn could refuse without hesitation or doubt in their hearts.  

* _Herdir_  

    Master  

* _elenath_  

    the host of stars  

** Quendi did once at Cuiviénen  

    _Quendi_, of course, is Quenya for 'elves'. The Sindarin equivalent of _Cuiviénen_ (lit. waters of awakening) is _Nen Echui_. (ref. _The Long Road_, 'Etymologies')  

* _Golodhrim, Gódhellim_  

    Both are class plurals for the Noldor, but the Noldor preferred the latter, as the first had an unpleasant sound (only elves!). The former, not surprisingly, was used chiefly in Doriath. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar')  

* _Hîl Oropher_  

    Heir of Oropher  

* _Bauglir_  

    Morgoth (lit. the Constrainer)  

* _Hîren_  

    My lord  

** _"One ring to rule them all… ."_  

    (ref. _LOTR_ p 248, pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

* _Gorthaur_  

    Sindarin name of Sauron  

* _Gelydh_  

    Noldor (plural of _Golodh_)  

* _Emyn Duir_  

    Mountains of Mirkwood before Sauron came to the forest (lit. Dark Hills). (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields')  

** magic  

    In _The Hobbit_, we are told that the Wood Elves possessed _"strong magic"_. (ref. p 167, pub. Del Rey/Ballantine)  

** Sauron  

    Tolkien rarely uses Gorthaur in _The Silmarillion_, in contrast with other Sindarin words replacing Quenya names. Its chief use may have been in Doriath, and during the mingling of the various Sindarin dialects at the end of the First Age and early Second Age, the name was perhaps lost - save among Sindar such as Oropher who were geographically isolated from the rest of the elves. The first part of the word, 'gorth', does fit in with Doriathrin words derived from the NGORT stem. (ref. _The Long Road_, 'Etymologies') However, at some point Oropher's family must have begun to adopt Quenya terms that had passed into common use. Legolas uses 'Sauron', indicating that by the end of the Third Age, Thranduil's family probably spoke standard 'Imladris' Sindarin. This dialect had a strong Quenya influence through Elrond's father, who must have learned Quenya as a child (Turgon's family alone continued to speak Quenya), and more significantly, Elrond's fostering by Maglor.  

** mallorns  

    The idea that the mallorns were bad for the environment is entirely made up, but not illogical. It's rarely a good thing to introduce a new species to an ecosystem, particularly one from a unique environment such as the island of Númenor. 
** bridge over the Anduin  

    This was located at the ford where the dwarves crossed in _The Hobbit_. Its moment of fame was the crossing of Gil-galad's army on the way to Mordor. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields')  

** Ringwraiths  

    The wraiths, I think, did not have the same effect on elves that they had on mortals. In combat, of course, their swords would be equally deadly, but I imagine that their terror and Black Breath would have little, if any, effect on an elf. Moreover, the elf himself (or herself) would be dreadful to the wraith - as with Gollum, anything elven would be a poison to him, and the elves had their own powers of magic. Together, the Nine would be more formidable, and the Witch King had powers beyond those of his riders. But elves, unlike men (excepting the Dúnedain, and the wraiths did fear Aragorn) maintained a close connection to the Valar, and perhaps the power of the Valar made them fearful of such things as the _"Elvish waters of Baranduin"_. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The Hunt for the Ring', p 360 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

  



	5. A House Divided against Itself

Author's Notes: I have mostly referred to the warriors as males for the sake of simplicity, but this is inaccurate - female elves, though less inclined to fight, did become warriors and prior to having children were nearly equal in strength to males. (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar')  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**A House Divided against Itself**

  
"_Despite the desire of the Silvan Elves to meddle as little as might be in the affairs of the Noldor and Sindar…Oropher had the wisdom to foresee that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome."_ (_Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', p 270 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  
**3431 Second Age, Imladris**  
  
"Again, those who claim to be the wise prove not so, and now you call to us, those you dismiss, to help unmake the doom you have brought upon yourselves." The Lord of Belfalas crossed his arms, glaring defiantly at the High King's people.  
  
They had come to Imladris - elves, men and dwarves - to discuss the Alliance made by Gil-galad and Elendil. They met now, on the eve of the larger council, to consider the matter first among their own kind, and Gil-galad found the Sindarin lords hostile, as he had expected. Belfalas, he thought, was only bluffing - their friendship with Anárion was solid and they would follow him. He was less sure of the not inconsequential number of Silvan Elves of the Vale of Anduin. Lórinand would follow Oropher's lead, and the Noldo remained uncertain until the last moment that the King of Eryn Galen would even come to Imladris.  
  
"Interesting. I do not recall what valiant deeds your people performed during the war in Eriador. If I am not mistaken, you hid yourselves like frightened rabbits until the danger was passed." Gil-galad shot an annoyed look at the elf-lord. They had little need here for Arphenion's acid tongue.  
  
"We fought the Enemy for centuries, while in Eregion you were seduced by him. Our people had the sense to see him for what he was," Oropher stood, his eyes darkened by rage.  
  
Galadriel snapped. "Enough of this! Morgoth we could not defeat because we fought more amongst ourselves than against the enemy."  
  
"Yes, and your kinsmen slew even those such as my wife, one of your own."  
  
"And my cousin, too, Oropher, do not forget that." There was an edge of steel in the Noldorin king's soft voice. Nonetheless, it had a calming effect as other voices rose in anger. "If you cannot put aside these grudges of the past, then you are welcome to quit this council. But if Sauron is not destroyed, he shall care little whether your people fought against him; he will crush you as he will all other free peoples."  
  
The Sinda reclaimed his seat. "To remain neutral has not been an option for us in the East. Perhaps you have had peace in Eriador and Lindon, but beyond the mountains, the Dark Lord's servants do not sleep and we have had no help from the High King. It seems we are only worthy of notice when our numbers are needed." The Lord of Belfalas nodded in agreement.  
  
"And would you have accepted help? For you certainly never asked it of me. It has been my impression that you have trusted in your own people for your defense, and in them, your trust has been well placed. I would not now seek your alliance if I doubted the valiance of your people."  
  
Thranduil hid a smile at Gil-galad's careful diplomacy. His glance met the sea-grey eyes of his second son in shared weariness of this argument. His father's blind prejudice must not obscure the fact that by their race, they were all - Sindar, Noldor and Avari - enemies of Sauron.  
  
"It matters little how this has come to be. We are all endangered," Elrond interjected. "And we have yet a greater task ahead in admitting **our** folly to the dwarves and Dúnedain."  
  
Oropher's eyes narrowed at the implications of Elrond's closing remark. Thranduil put his hand over his father's. "_Adar_, we are fighting the wrong battle here," he whispered. *1  
  
"You underestimate your father," the ancient elf replied under his breath. "Our folly, _Herdir_ Elrond?" *2  
  
"None here at this council had a part in the forging of the rings, but I assure you the aftercomers will assign blame to all elves without discrimination."  
  
"The blame lies both in the creation and in the secret kept, and for the latter the High King and," Oropher looked directly at Celeborn, "those in his confidence I hold to account."  
  
"What is your purpose in forging such divisions among us?" Elrond queried.  
  
"Only this - if you will hide behind lies and mistrust, then do not expect us to submit to your leadership. My people will fight in this war on Sauron, but not in defense of the Noldor."  
  
Though every choice Oropher had made as king and leader of his people had sought to avoid it, war had become inevitable. He had assured, however, that he would participate on his own terms. His host would go forth under the emerald banner of Eryn Galen; he would not march under the blue and silver of the Noldor. Oropher left the council, pleased with its outcome but troubled by its revelations. He hurried to catch his cousin in the hall, pulling him into a discreet alcove.  
  
"What is the meaning of this, Oropher?"  
  
"I think you know well." Oropher closed the heavy drapes in the doorway and turned to face his cousin in the flickering candlelight.  
  
Resigned, Celeborn sat down to await his cousin's tirade.  
  
"These many years, I believed that you truly had the best interests of Malgalad and his people in mind; that though I feared your wife's ambition, you were needed in Lindórinand. Yet, I was deceived, Celeborn. If Galadriel had not been there, Lindórinand would have been left in peace."  
  
"And Gorthaur permitted to focus on the west, instead of dividing his forces. If Lindon had fallen, do you think he would not have turned upon you next?"  
  
Oropher looked at him disbelievingly. "Do not pretend that you had a greater good in mind, Celeborn. If this were so, you would have destroyed that ring."  
  
"It was not mine to destroy," Celeborn said flatly.  
  
"No, it belonged to Galadriel. Your wife, whose ambition has made you one of them. You have forgotten your people, cousin. You are loyal to Gil-galad at the expense of your own kin."  
  
Celeborn shook his head in disgust. "You live in the past, Oropher."  
  
"Indeed. I live in a past in which we once put our kinship above all other loyalties." Oropher mused, mesmerized by the candle's wavering flame. He turned to look directly at his cousin, his pale grey eyes overcast with anger and hurt. "You lied to me," he spat. "Not one word did you speak of what might destroy us all."  
  
"It was not my wish to deceive you. I was not free to reveal all that I knew."  
  
"You were not free because you have become but a thrall to your wife and to the High King," Oropher accused.  
  
"And so we come to the crux of the matter." The elf-lord's voice sharpened with his rising temper. "This has nothing to do with the rings. This is nothing more than your irrational hate for Galadriel. You are resentful because she survived, and I cannot help that."  
  
"Caranthir spared her life! Anórieth was not killed for a Silmaril. She was killed as a descendant of Finarfin's sons. But never did he or any of Fëanor's sons hate Galadriel. She - remained - loyal - to - them." His terse words dripped with venom. *3  
  
"She has spoken often enough against them!" Celeborn knew that Oropher's words were not entirely untrue. Yet Galadriel bore no guilt in Caranthir's madness. If he spared one and took the other, it was not the fault of the survivor.  
  
Oropher interrupted his thoughts. "It is in her deeds that she has been found wanting," his cousin said softly, almost gently. "You have made your choice, you who see farther than me, yet are blind. Now I make mine. We share blood, Celeborn. But we no longer share kinship."  
  
**3432 Second Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
The elf leapt lightly down the hill of the glen, as silent and graceful as the deer for which he was named. He paused on a rock overlooking the path and studied his quarry, snaking its way north toward the forest. At last, his target came within range, and he jumped lightly into the path, startling several elves in the party.  
  
"Mitharas! One day you will be rewarded with an arrow in your backside," Innolas warned.  
  
Like an irrepressible puppy, the elf hardly heard the scolding of his kinsman. "Where are you going?"  
  
Innolas threw up his hands, anticipating his cousin's next question. "We are going to the Iron Hills. Gather your things, and you may go with us. But be quick!" Mitharas scurried up the path. Watching him go, Innolas knew his cousin must soon enough become more sober in his behavior; he might enjoy the waning days of his childhood while they lasted. His coming of age was not far away, and war came even closer. Whether he was deemed old enough to join the warriors or left behind, the young elf must cross the threshold into maturity.  
  
A flurry of blond braids soon came flying down the path, and with the Wood Elves singing a merry song, the party set off again. The errand to the Iron Hills had little levity to it, however. Eryn Galen was ill prepared for the coming war. The Silvan folk did not wear armor in their battles in the forest, for it hindered their movement and stole their great advantage of stealth. Now something must be fashioned. They had not the time or resources to produce full armament for their entire host, or accustom themselves to heavy mail, but at the least they might craft helmets and breastplates. Their own smiths could not handle the overload, and Khazad-dûm was busy with the making of armor for the hosts of Gil-galad and Elendil and for its own host. Much of this work Khazad-dûm had sent to its northeastern cousin, but Innolas hoped that the Iron Hills had yet metalworkers to spare.  
  
The talk during their five-day journey largely concerned the war. The subject hovered over the elves in all their doings, it seemed, and Mitharas listened eagerly to his elders' ruminations. Gently, Innolas tried to temper his cousin's enthusiasm - an archer who had earned the stingy praise of Brónalm he might be, but Mitharas knew little of the horror of battle. Indeed, his participation in the war his parents still debated.  
  
As they neared the Iron Hills, Innolas grew silent, considering the negotiations before him. Dwarves troubled him. Language mirrors its speakers, and dwarves kept their language secret. The elf felt that this secret was a barrier between their peoples. He had learned to deal with them, as could not be avoided, but he would never truly understand them. What little he knew of Khazâd was that it was a harsh, unforgiving language, with little ornamentation of its sound - a reflection of its speakers. By contrast, Sindarin was designed to be soft and musical to delicate elven ears. This was quite lost on the dwarf who stood in line before them, casually sharpening his axe while he waited, oblivious to the aural discomfort of the elves behind him. Innolas, with no small effort, held his tongue and complained not of the unpleasant noise, and he cast a warning look at his young cousin.  
  
At last, it came their turn. An agreement emerged after several hours of negotiation, though Innolas thought the dwarves overcharged them, knowing too well their need. As they wound their way back through the tunnels, Mitharas, who had watched the transaction quietly, now spoke. "Grandfather says that they would cheat their own sires for gold."  
  
"I would not call it cheating - their word is as honorable as any elf's. The goods we have purchased will be first-rate and finished in the time promised," Innolas explained. "Grandfather remembers the dwarves of Nogrod, and all the evil they did in Doriath. There are yet some clans, one hears, who are nefarious in their dealings. But the dwarves of Wilderland and _Hadhodrond_ are the Longbeards, Durin's descendants, and they are honest, if unpleasant." *4, *5  
  
They left behind the dwarf mine with relief, bringing cheer to the Wood Elves, who had small love for caves. "Keep alert," Faunil warned, as they set out to return home. "I heard the _negyth_ speaking of orc raids out of the Ered Mithrin." *6  
  
On the second night, the party found a form of shelter in a stand of trees. In the dark hours, a low warning whistle roused them. The approaching orcs outnumbered them, Innolas saw, but not by more than half. He had faith enough in their archers to know his party would be an adequate match. He debated whether to attack, and have the benefit of surprise, or wait, hoping the company would turn aside and pass them unawares. His brother would attack, he knew; his father, more cautious, would likely hold his guard at the ready.  
  
In the end, the wind made his decision, for it shifted, carrying their scents to the orcs, and they lost both the chance of surprise and the chance of non-engagement. He scarcely needed his sword; the archers swiftly cut down the attacking orcs before they could advance. Beside him, Mitharas' bow sang, and Innolas noted the fire in the youngster's eyes. Indeed, a fine warrior he would one day make, but he must first learn that his calling had a dark side. Not all battles would be an easy rout. The remaining orcs turned to flee, and Faunil and two of the Wood Elves swiftly mounted their horses in pursuit, lest the survivors summon a larger host in revenge. Two among their party had minor wounds, but the orc arrows had borne no poison. Orcs rarely used poisons except in war - to find the plants and distill the lethal resins required care and attention, and even for wicked purpose, the foul creatures had little aptitude for such work.  
  
Warriors all, the Silvan Elves of their guard congratulated the young Noldo on his fine archery. Innolas was more circumspect in his praise. "You did well, _Araseg_, but we are fortunate only two were hurt, and not badly. Even when skill is in our favor, one may be felled by mischance. *7, *8  
  
"By luck, their number was small, and the shadow of the trees concealed us, for orkish eyes are sharp in the dark," he continued, as they retrieved arrows from the dead orcs - and made certain that they were, indeed, dead. "Though our guard is responsible for our safety, we too have responsibility in leading them, for it would be a grievous blow to lose even one."  
  
The youngster nodded, but Innolas thought his cousin little heeded his words. 'He is far too innocent to go to Mordor, Málissë must see that,' he fretted.  
  
**3433 Second Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
Nórui was furious. "I am older and have far more experience. Mitharas knows nothing of these things, he is but a child."  
  
Málissë refused to be moved. "That is why you remain here. You know these woods better than your brother - you can better protect those left behind."  
  
"Grandfather said that I will go," the elf-maid insisted stubbornly.  
  
"It is not your grandfather's decision to make." The thought of what might befall his daughter in Mordor - he had been to war, he knew its depravities, he knew orcs - had set his mind against Nórui's wish to march with their host.  
  
"Have you considered Laigil's will in this?" Innolas spoke up.  
  
"It is settled. We will not discuss this again." Ignoring his brother-son's question, the elf stalked from the room.  
  
"_Iaeth-tharn Golodh dorthol!_" the elf-maid muttered. In unconscious imitation of her father, Nórui likewise left the room, frustration with her lot clear to all who would see. *9  
  
"If Málissë is determined to take his son to war, I see not why his daughter must therefore remain behind."  
  
"Laigil will not allow it. She will not risk losing both her children. If it were left to her, I suspect that she would keep Mitharas near to her, for he is young, too young, I deem, for this," Berinaeth echoed her son's concerns.  
  
"But you do not feel the same?"  
  
Berinaeth smiled. "I do, but you are neither of you so young as your cousin. It is your own choice to make. Though I am loath to see so many who are dear to me in such peril, I know it cannot be helped. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, all that we cherish will be lost." She sighed. "Your father's sister sees far, and it is not at all times a gift, for she sees sometimes things that are beyond help."  
  
**3434 Second Age, Battle of Dagorlad**  
  
Sauron's forces already massed at the crossing at Parth Celebrant, effectively closing the gap at the Fords of Isen to hosts from the western lands. Therefore, the forces of Gil-galad and Elendil took to the mountain passes, a slower path, but more direct. The Galadhrim and Durin's army likewise traveled north to the bridge over the Anduin. Here the Galadhrim joined Oropher's host, and when the men and elves from the west had regrouped, the Alliance turned south. *10  
  
When the enemy learned of the north crossing, the fell host fled to the marshes and infertile flats to make its stand, leaving devastation in its wake. Neither man nor Noldo understood the fury and grief that swept through the Silvan host. They could not know what beauty the orcs had destroyed in these scorched and blackened lands, nor would the elves of the west - save Círdan and one or two others who had made the Great Journey - recognize the creatures who had recently occupied this land.  
  
Whither had gone the Entwives none would know. Perhaps they could not escape the fires and so burned with their gardens, or perhaps they had chosen this fate. Or perhaps they fled far into the east. But they were gone.  
  
Bereft of vegetation, the desolate flats showed no sign of spring when the Alliance at last met Sauron's men and orcs - creatures united not by love for their master but by loathing for elves and the Dúnedain. Elven eyes detected a heavy black cloud billowing from Mordor; elven ears cringed from the piercing cries of the Nazgûl, and the ground on which they met their foes would henceforth take the name of Dagorlad.  
  
For some weeks, they pressed forward slowly. The Alliance clearly had the advantage, but Sauron had yet to reveal all his tricks. One warm night, shadowy figures rose from the marshes, threatening the rear lines, yet they did not attack. Instead, they turned and fled north. The elves took off in pursuit, but runners soon brought orders to Gil-galad's rear guard - to maintain a defensive stance. The High King thought the men deserters of Sauron, and was wont to let them escape.  
  
The men had other designs. "Your children's heads we will mount as trophies and your wives will wish to join them in their fate," they taunted. This the Wood Elves could not ignore, even if those with their loved ones safe in Lindon had no fear. The far flank closed quickly on the men, following them into the marsh. The trap laid, orcs drove from the south, catching Malgalad's folk between the two forces.  
  
Málissë and his company hurried to aid the Lórinand elves. Oropher could send no others, however, as his host was already engaged in fierce fighting. Málissë might have had reinforcement from the rear lines of Gil-galad's host, but their captain learned too late of the slaughter in the marshes. The Silvan Elves fought hard, and wrought great loss upon their attackers, but two-thirds of Malgalad's folk perished, including their king. Málissë, too, had fallen.  
  
The Alliance held their pursuit of the retreating army in order to rest and tend to the wounded and dead. Caunolas sent the warriors under his command to help with these tasks, then sought his cousin. In the mud of the marshland, he spied a glint of pale hair, and with a new appreciation for the golden hair his grandmother had bequeathed upon her descendants, he hurried to the young elf, who crouched over the still-warm body of his father.  
  
"He is dead," Mitharas noted impassively.  
  
"Come, Mitharas, it does you no good to remain thus."  
  
An elf of Círdan's folk approached them warily. His people had suffered light casualties and had come to help bury the dead of the battle in the marshes. The elf knew time was precious, but the young Noldo resisted the efforts of his kinsman to lead him away.  
  
"You must come away, Araseg. We must move again soon." Caunolas pleaded with the shocked and stricken elf. "You can do no more for him." Gently, he pulled his cousin from his keening position.  
  
Mitharas seemed to come to his senses then, and a new expression, hard and cold flashed through his face. He turned away, wiping a grimy hand over his eyes. He did not look back.  
  
Caunolas shook his head, disturbed by his cousin's strange mood. He had not the leisure to worry over this, however. His grandfather had returned from discussions with the other leaders, and told his captains that they would soon press forward. Many dead remained near the marshes; dead they must bury or burn in the small time left to the work crews. The elves who had fallen in the deeps of the marshes must remain so. Caunolas loathed the thought that the Firstborn's remains would thus mingle with the dead of Morgoth's abomination, but it could not be helped.  
  
Oropher offered a prayer to Mandos for the quick release of the souls of the dead. Such would be the fate of his lost elves; they had given their lives valiantly and selflessly. There were many evil deeds done in the marshes on that day, however, some to remain undiscovered for hundreds of years hence.  
  
**3434 Second Age, Morannon Gate**  
  
Mordor loomed ahead, shrouded in a dark mist. Near to the Morannon Gate, the mist, oily and unwholesome, thickened. The gate itself appeared unguarded, yet Gil-galad was wary. He could not accept that Sauron had abandoned all defense of his outer fortifications and awaited the Alliance within. No, some stroke awaited them. Moreover, Anárion and the elves of Belfalas, delayed by a much smaller host, would reach the gate within a day. He therefore signaled a halt to their march. After consideration among the leaders, Oropher agreed to send his scouts forth. Where there was need of stealth, few elves could best the wood folk.  
  
Tired warriors ate, rested and tended to minor wounds. As the hours crawled by and the scouts failed to return, Gil-galad's certainty that the scouts had met with some unfortunate end confirmed his fear of a trap ahead. Now he waited on Anárion. The men of Gondor knew more of Mordor than did his own people or Elendil's men of the north, and this knowledge he would need.  
  
Oropher grew increasingly restless, worried for his scouts, and suspicious of the High King. He wondered aloud whether the Noldorin king had abandoned Oropher's flank in the marshes, finding them expendable, and if he now hardened his heart toward the missing scouts.  
  
Grumbling arose among many of the Wood Elves, echoing Oropher's voiced and unvoiced thoughts.  
  
"If it were his folk missing," Galion complained, "he would not be so slow to attack."  
  
"_A Belain!_ What does this Noldo await?" Caunolas paced restlessly. *11  
  
Thranduil felt the anger like a wave, rolling through the Sindar and _Laegrim_ and their like-minded sons - those who had reason to be wary of the Noldor. *12  
  
Innolas came up through the ranks. "There is foulness is at work here, Adar."  
  
Brónalm agreed. "There is a bad feeling about this mist. 'Tis more than cover for the light-fearing spawn of Morgoth."  
  
"You fear it breeds dissention," Thranduil surmised.  
  
The _Cúcherdir_ shrugged. "I do not have your sister's gift for sight, but this air I like not." *13  
  
Thranduil, too, felt this dread, and sought to mollify his father. "My heart tells me we are afflicted by some sorcery, Adar. Think on this, lest your passion lead you into rash deeds."  
  
His father turned to him, and Thranduil knew no words could hold him. In Oropher's grim face he saw bile and distrust, grief too long nurtured and deserted now by reason and restraint. No hope had Thranduil of appeal to the wise king who had so long held back the shadow from his realm, no hope of appeal to the care Oropher had for the people he so loved.  
  
No hope might stay the rush on the Morannon.  
  
  


* * *

  
*1 _Adar_  

    Father  

*2 _Herdir_  

    Master  

*3 "But never did he or any of Fëanor's sons hate Galadriel. She remained loyal to them."  

    All that can be truthfully alleged against Galadriel is that she was one of the more enthusiastic Exiles and that she point-blank refused to tell Melian the truth about the Kinslaying. However, it is said of Turgon, Finrod and Angrod that they were not exactly fond of Fëanor's sons; nothing like this is told of Galadriel. Tolkien's later conception of Galadriel was quite different - she becomes a hero who fought with Celeborn (now her cousin and one of the Teleri in Aman) against the Kinslayers (the story of her refusal to give Fëanor a lock of her hair is part of this late emendation, as told in _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor'). This, however, does not mesh well with _LOTR_, in which it is implied that she has a guilt for which she must atone, an interpretation Tolkien confirms in _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, Letter 297. Personally, I find her annoying as a saint (even a flawed saint, as in _LOTR_), and much more interesting as she appears in _The Silmarillion_, and so have chosen to portray her according to Tolkien's original conception of the character.  

*4 "And there are yet some clans, one hears, who are nefarious in their dealings."  

    According to _The Silmarillion_, dwarves fought on both sides in the war fought by the Last Alliance. To those aligned with Sauron, I find no references, but Durin's folk fought against him.  

*5 _Hadhodrond_  

    Khazad-dûm  

*6 _negyth_  

    dwarves  

*7 congratulated the young Noldo  

    I've used the convention of assigning clan-identification through the father, as Tolkien did with Finarfin's children (who were actually only a quarter Noldorin, due to their Vanyarin grandmother and Telerin mother). Though Nórui and Mitharas would probably identify themselves as Sindar, they would be, strictly speaking, Noldor.  

*8 _Araseg_  

    Little deer  

*9 "_Iaeth-tharn Golodh dorthol!_"  

    "Controlling, stiff-necked Noldo!"  

*10 Durin's army  

    I don't believe we're told the name of the King of Khazad-dûm who fought with the Last Alliance, but there were four Durins in between the first, who died at the end of the First Age, and Durin VI, killed by the Balrog in TA 1980, so likely as not, it was a Durin. (ref. _LOTR_, 'Appendix A')  

*11 _A Belain!_  

    By the Valar!  

*12 _Laegrim_  

    Green Elves, aka Laiquendi  

*13 _Cúcherdir_  

    Bow-master  
  

  



	6. With this Ring

Author's Notes: There is a major problem with the storyline in Rîn that I intend to fix in the final chapter of this story, relying upon the 'No one Bothered to Tell the Avari" loophole of the Doom of Finwë and Míriel. Thus, this story departs from its sequel, and I intend to make a few more minor changes - with the idea of rewriting Rîn to match this story.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**With this Ring  
**

  
3434 Second Age, Assault on Morannon  
  
Death sought him. Its long bony fingers had crawled after him since the spear point reached the tender flesh of his throat. He yet hovered on the noisy side of the living, but heard his _fëa_ summoned. Though his fëa grew ever more distant from the battlefield, he knew his father was near to him. He sensed that his father's eyes were dimmed by tears behind his helm, that his gentle hands sought in vain to stop the outflowing of life. "_Iónen! Hên nîn!_" his father called to him, but the Vala who called ever more insistently to him would not permit him to answer. He saw his brother, grimly slicing his sword into an orc, unaware yet that he would henceforth bear the title of _Hîl Thranduil_. *1, *2, *3  
  
Caunolas could not resist any longer; he might be stranded in Arda, a houseless fëa, a shade. He must go, though his father's anguish filled him with regret. What judgment must Mandos cast upon him, he who had rushed without thought into death, drawn - no, deceived by the Dark Lord himself? '_Adar, dannar níren o naergon nin amarth hen rennin_.' His father seemed to hear his final words of contrition. The battlefield's sounds and smells dimmed and were gone. *4  
  
Five days had passed since the disastrous assault on the Gate; five days had passed since Thranduil had buried his father and oldest son. The losses of the elves of Eryn Galen and Lórinand had reduced them to less than half their strength. From their King to Avari of the remotest reaches of the realm, they grieved for lost kinsmen. As such, the mood was unusually somber among the wood folk. Restlessly Thranduil left his tent twice to walk through their camp and returned, finding no escape from sorrow. He felt smothered by it; the eyes of every elf he met mirrored his own aching regret for his son and father.  
  
Silence held court in his tent. Brónalm went through the familiar motions of repairing arrows. Having no kin himself, his King's family had become his family, and Brónalm grieved no less than did Thranduil. In their bedrolls, Innolas and Mitharas had found escape in sleep; the older elf lay with an arm thrown protectively over his cousin. The sight brought a hint of a smile to the King's face, as he absently twisted the ring around his third finger - a thoughtful gift of his sons, as the two elves knew of their father's appreciation for precious stones. Each stone represented one of the giftmakers - ruby for Caunolas and his fiery spirit, sapphire for wise Innolas. In the center they had placed their father's favorite gem, emerald, signifying endurance through adversity.  
  
Thranduil prayed that Mandos would not too long keep his own father from the reunion he so ardently desired. This hope made Oropher's death easier to accept, though his father's heart had not been easy when he surrendered his fëa to Mandos.  
  
"I was deceived, Thranduil. I, who believed myself blameless, lent an ear to darkness these many years. Willfully I led my host, and even your son, into death, against your counsel. For this I shall rightfully be held to account. Your mother, I do not doubt, shall find much fault with me in the matter.  
  
"You shall make a great king, iónen." He looked fondly at his heir as he continued. "Never have I feared to leave our people in your hands." Oropher's eyes grew cloudy; Thranduil could not determine if sleep or death had taken him.  
  
"_Adar?_" *5  
  
Oropher's eyes snapped open, an odd light shining in their ancient depths. "_Den estan Edhellendor-Vedui_. More sorrow awaits you, I fear. Yet from your sorrows shall come one among the Silvan folk, a child of your heart who will bring joy to the dark days you have yet to endure." *6  
  
His father's promise Thranduil did not entirely understand, but he drew some comfort from its implication that he and his father's beloved people would outlast this present peril. Such thoughts did not lessen his grief for his oldest son. 'Little spark', his mother had called him as a child, for like his grandfather, Caunolas had been prone to extremes of feeling. He had proved also to be a natural leader, and the somber circumstances of war were those under which his eldest had shone brightest. Popular among the people, his enthusiasm they would miss.  
  
In his ponderings, Thranduil had fallen into a trance-like state, soothed by the repetitive movements of the _Cúcherdir_ as he sharpened his arrow tips. The realization that Brónalm had paused came to him slowly, and he looked up to see the ancient elf looking at him intently. *7  
  
"Your heart is heavy tonight, _Aranen_," Brónalm observed, inviting his confidence. *8  
  
"It is this war - we have lost so much already, yet if the Noldorin King judges rightly, we have yet a long campaign ahead." He wondered at the ability of Elendil's men to withstand such a long siege. But a blink of an eye in the life of an elf was many years to a mortal. Still, the Dúnedain did not lack incentive - not only was it their land that Sauron threatened, positioned as he was on the doorstep of Gondor, but the loss of Númenor must be bitter to the Faithful. Few elixirs were more powerful, he should know, than revenge.  
  
Such meanderings of his mind brought him to the dwarves, who had taken up the siege near Orodruin, watchful lest some underground connection between Barad-dûr and the Maia's forge be pressed for his escape. He had more confidence in the stubborn patience of the stunted folk, though like his younger son, Thranduil had little love or understanding for them. The never-forgotten dwarves of Nogrod still inspired ill feelings among the Sindar and _Laegrim_ who had come to Eryn Galen from Doriath, and even in their common struggles against the creatures of Sauron, the elves and dwarves of the Wilderland had never truly been allies. *9  
  
Many from Doriath had given up their lives in the assault on the gate. Revenge was more than an elixir - it was a fey wine that carried men and elves alike to their doom. Morgoth had once used strife between the elves to accomplish his aims; Sauron his lieutenant had made good use of this poison.  
  
Such thoughts troubled another who wandered abroad this night. The elf who had made this historical alliance, who had turned often to the descendants of Elros in need, had himself overcome deep distrust and doubts instilled by one among the kin of Elros. He trusted few so much as he now trusted Elendil. In sharp contrast lay his dealings with the Sindarin lords, and thus had he come to the north side of Barad-dûr.  
  
A cold reception awaited him from the elf who had served Oropher and now served his son. He felt keenly the elf's reproach for what had befallen his lord. Nonetheless, Galion entered the tent occupied by Thranduil and his kin to summon his King.  
  
"We are of the same age, you and I. Our strivings now are but small next to the straits in which we found ourselves at the end of the Elder Days," Gil-galad observed, when the two had walked in silence a few moments.  
  
"Yet we are overshadowed by the same quarrel."  
  
Gil-galad nodded. "We cannot continue this enmity between our peoples. The Dark Lord learned much of his master. In forging divisions among the Eldar none were more adept than Morgoth."  
  
They walked on silent feet through the ash, leaving only the faintest footprints. Both kings had acquired a layer of grime since leaving the marshes - water was precious and the Alliance carted it into Mordor from Ithilien. "It is perhaps my own fault - I did little in those days to heal the breach between the Sindar and the Noldor," the raven-haired elf continued.  
  
"You were then young," Thranduil acknowledged.  
  
"Indeed." The oily blackness had lifted somewhat with a warm wind from the west, but the sun remained a dim glow in the sky. "I was resentful. None among the Noldor suffered so much by Fëanor's seed as did the sons of Finarfin."  
  
"This I know all too well," Thranduil reminded him.  
  
The Noldo looked sideways at the other elf. "I met your mother once. I was hardly more than a babe - this was the year before Dagor Bragollach. She wore bright flowers in her hair. That is all I remember, I am afraid."  
  
"They shared a great love, my mother and father. My father's grief festered all these years, and took him to his grave," Thranduil said quietly. "But I would not have him remembered so, as the loremasters of the Eldar are likely to do. He was also wise and kindly, and he is much lamented by my people."  
  
A bitter smile twisted the High King's features. "One can find much fault in the tales of the loremasters, who knew not those of whom they tell, but praise the foolish and faithless while those of steady courage are disregarded." He was silent for a moment. They had returned to Thranduil's tent. He knew, now, what he had walked so far to learn. The Sindarin king was proud and independent, as had been his father. However, the shadow that had tainted Oropher's judgment lay not on the son. Gil-galad turned his brilliant eyes on the other elf and continued. "History favors the historian. _Fëanor ngoll, dan law 'arn ind_. Elrond speaks highly of your second son's scholarship. Perhaps it shall be his task to set the tales of Fëanor's _Ingolmor_ to rights." *10, *11  
  
**3438 Second Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
"Good evening, my Lady."  
  
Berinaeth's sharp eyes studied the dark sitting room and at last lingered on a figure shrouded in garments of black, in the manner of Númenor. Yet she sensed that his heart was equally black; he spoke in Adûnaic, a language the Faithful of his high rank - judging by his jeweled fingers - would not use. "How did you get in here?" The black arts of Sauron had served him well, if he had been able to pass through the webs of magic that protected the Emyn Duir.  
  
"We were invited, my Lady."  
  
She followed his eyes to her terrified handmaiden. Another man, of lesser rank, Berinaeth guessed, by his unadorned clothing, sat behind Ríadel, airily polishing his knife.  
  
"What do you want of me?"  
  
"Nothing, my Lady, of any value to me, but of considerable value to another. A small trinket, that is all."  
  
Berinaeth understood. She hoped, for all their sakes, that Galadriel's security at Imladris proved more reliable than her own. Though her death was at hand whether she told what she knew or not, she still might keep her people safe, if she could convince him she did not keep any of the rings.  
  
"I know not of what you speak."  
  
"Indeed, you do. The wife of a king?"  
  
"You are mistaken. I am but the King's daughter, by marriage to his son. And I am not privy to all their confidences." In this, she spoke falsely, but such words a mortal might well believe.  
  
"This war in which you put such faith goes poorly for your kindred and their allies. Your King fell at the Morannon." He smiled wolfishly.  
  
Berinaeth could not hide her anguish; Oropher had been dear to her. Yet, she kept hope still in the Alliance. Thrushes brought tidings to them of the siege, and so the elves in the forest were not wholly ignorant of the doings in Mordor. "I still do not know what you ask of me."  
  
He rose, standing so near to her that only by exercise of will did she hold her place. "Lady, I tire of these circles in which you lead me. You possess one of the rings. I would have it, and you may keep your life. And perhaps your willingness to cooperate shall be remembered after your people are defeated in Mordor."  
  
She laughed with a humor she did not feel. "_Abonnen_, I have lived more than four thousand years of the sun, and some time before _Anor_ first rose. My father fought against Morgoth when your kind was yet under the protection of the Avari here in the woods." For a moment, she appeared to glow with the ancient strength of her race, her skin cold and pale as a carved image, and the man stepped back, disconcerted. "If you think that I can be swayed by empty promises of a servant to Morgoth's lieutenant, you are mistaken. Nor can I be persuaded that Sauron would show mercy to the Firstborn under any circumstance. Your threats are equally useless - I do not have this ring of which you speak." *12, *13  
  
With an effort, he regained his composure. He saw that the elf spoke truthfully, but he thought her not altogether ignorant of the rings. "If you do not fear your own death, then perhaps you may be persuaded by methods…less pleasant."  
  
"Torment me or no, I cannot give you what I do not have."  
  
"Knowledge, you have. Do not take me for a simple Woodman, my Lady. Your mind is not wholly shrouded from me."  
  
Berinaeth forced a bemused smile. "Then our discussion is futile. You might read my mind and be gone, if I knew anything of use to you."  
  
His probing had led him nowhere. What she knew, she guarded carefully. The abilities his Dark Lord had taught him could not pierce that veil. He was not a patient man. He lifted his chin, nodding to his partner. The other man yanked Ríadel to her feet, holding the blade of his knife to her throat. "My good will is waning, my Lady, and my friend takes a rather morbid enjoyment in the spilling of elven blood."  
  
She did not dare to look at Ríadel, even to apologize for what she must do. "Still my answer does not change. I simply do not know anything of this matter."  
  
The man looked to his partner, who dropped to the floor in agony. The handmaiden wrested the blade from his hand. "_Hirilen_, take care!" *14  
  
Momentarily shocked by the elf-maid's courage, the men too soon recovered. Berinaeth's call for help ended in a dagger drawn swiftly over her throat, and the other man took advantage of Ríadel's dismay to seize his knife. He plunged it twice into the handmaiden and then heeded his master's urgent summons.  
  
"Come, or we shall be caught here."  
  
They passed swiftly from the Emyn Duir in a shadow that left unease in its wake. He could learn nothing more here - the elves had kept the rings secret, to protect them and those who would be imperiled by such knowledge as Berinaeth had held. His impatience had lost their chance. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.  
  
**3439 Second Age, Mordor**  
  
The heart of the Silvan Elf uneasily tolerated long separation from the flora tied so closely to his soul. The Nazgûl did not trouble elves as they did men, for the terror of mortality held no power over creatures bound to Eä until the end of time. Black clouds, however, swirled overhead, withholding the stars from view. This, Thranduil knew, was not unintentional. The elves decried the veiling of the stars, and the wood folk more so.  
  
Yet here in the ash, he found proof that the Wood Elves kept faith in their hearts. Amid the slag and waste of this desolate land, under the loving care of his people, the hardy uilos, the flower of hope eternal, had bloomed.  
  
Soft footsteps joined him in his wonder. "It is said that we are writing the last great tale of the Eldar, but perhaps of the wood folk there are yet legends to be made," he mused.  
  
Brónalm studied the lone blossom, the faint lines around his eyes the only sign of the millennia he had seen in the forest he loved. "'Tis said among my people that alone among the Quendi we are not destined to fade but shall end as spirits - _nanni_, in our ancient tongue - of the wood." *15  
  
"Mayhap that is the true sense of this doom pronounced by the Valar. The Eldar are fearful of change, but change we must if we are to remain in the Arda we so love." Thranduil turned his attention to the ancient elf. The dark grey eyes betrayed fathomless years of wisdom, yet remained bright and curious.  
  
Like Círdan, Brónalm had done what the younger Noldor could not - he had adapted to the times, staving off the world-weariness that so plagued the High Elves. "Arda's heart lies in the very breath of its forests, in all that Yavanna has made," the Cúcherdir said presently. "Arda grows, and renews and ever changes, Aranen. We elves must grow with her."  
  
"Or choose the straight path, for only in Aman can we hold back the march of time."  
  
"May the _Belain_ forgive me, but I should fade from constancy in the Undying Lands," Brónalm admitted ruefully. *16  
  
Thranduil laughed. "My heart warns me I would meet with a similar fate."  
  
**3441 Second Age, Mordor**  
  
The old mariner paused in the darkness, watching Elrond's return to camp. He need ask no questions. The slump in the Peredhel's shoulders told all.  
  
'A new age begins, yet bound to the menace of the old,' Círdan murmured to himself. He turned resolutely toward the camp of the Silvan Elves, to deliver more heavy news. His kinsmen had already grieved enough, and he foresaw more sorrows awaiting them in their forests to the north.  
  
Thranduil greeted him warmly. "Círdan! I trust you fare all right. Your runners have already reached us with the news."  
  
"Alas, I bear other tidings." The stars struggled to pierce the clouds, still clearing in the wake of the last battle. In the distance, Orodruin's glow was subdued, seeming to mourn the dark Maia. "'Tis your wife's father, Aureve. He fell in Sauron's final push."  
  
Thranduil grimaced, turning away for a moment. "I expect we shall not be much welcomed at home, for we bring only messages of death."  
  
They were silent for a moment. In spite of the unlooked for victory when all was thought to be lost, little cheer there was that night, for the end had been bitter, and the casualties many.  
  
"And the ring? Was it destroyed?" Círdan's messengers had told of the fall of Gil-galad and Elendil, of Isildur's stroke by the shards of Narsil. Yet none knew the fate of the One Ring, though many whispered that it had perished with its wearer.  
  
Círdan drew a deep breath, considering what the King of Eryn Galen should know of Isildur's weregild. Finally, he offered brief, and, rare for the ancient elf, terse details.  
  
"So we failed, in the end." Thranduil's eyes looked briefly in the direction of Isildur's camp. He pitied the mortal - Isildur had done much and lost much, and was already enslaved by the token he had taken. Yet he also feared Isildur, for the Dúnadan did not fully understand the dark power he held, that the ring was made of the very being of the Maia he thought defeated. Had an elf taken the ring, could the courage have been found - could he, son of Oropher, have found the courage - to destroy it? His kindred had lacked the courage to destroy the Three. Had an elf taken the ring, Thranduil decided, his knowledge would only make the ring more dangerous. *17  
  
Círdan's solemn tidings only added to the burdens of his heart. He brought sorrow back to his people. Only a third of the brave warriors would see their home again. Many widows had been made, not least of them his sister, who would be doubly taken by her father's death. Berinaeth would grieve, too, for Oropher, for her own father, and so for her oldest son. Many eyes would search among the returning heroes for their fathers, daughters, husbands; never again would those eyes rest on the loved one whose return had been so eagerly anticipated.  
  
**1 Third Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
Ríadel survived to tell of her lady's courage. No lay would memorialize Ríadel's heroism or Berinaeth's sacrifice; no song would tell of Nórui's stealthy pursuit of the Black Númenóreans or of her arrows that sent the men to their death. Yet, the elven women's defense of their home through the dark years had been no less valiant than the efforts of his warriors.  
  
For Berinaeth, Thranduil grieved, but not with such agony as had chased his father to his death. His relationship with his wife had not been so passionate or devoted. Indeed, he could not deny that he had sought affections elsewhere, if he had not been truly unfaithful. Still, her passing left him with a greater sense of loss than might be thought. "We shall be content in one another," he had assured his father, and he had been content. Berinaeth had been his best counselor and a great comfort to his father. She had borne him two sons he loved above all else. Looking upon her grave, he hoped that she, too, had been content.  
  
His own sorrows he had little time to indulge. His fragile sister showed every sign of succumbing to despair. He had hoped Laigil would go West, if her anguish proved too great to bear, but her heart and fate would not be turned, and no words could Thranduil find to persuade his sister to remain in life.  
  
"Can you bring him back?" Laigil demanded of him. "What of our father? Or your son? How many widows were made, how will our people recover?"  
  
"And would you make an orphan, too?" Thranduil asked.  
  
"He is not a child, _muindoren_. Perhaps he was nearly so when he left here, but he has aged a thousand years since then." His sister he could save no more than he could his father, no more than he could purge the brittle bitterness from her son. *18  
  
Innolas paused uncertainly in the flickering light from his father's library. Thranduil was pensive, his face turned toward the window but his eyes unseeing. Much weighed on his father - the sorrows had only multiplied since the long march back from Mordor, not least those of their people, now mourning their dead, for none were untouched, so many had been lost.  
  
He entered the library and touched his father's arm. "This burden is not yours alone to bear, Adar."  
  
"They have placed their trust in me. It is my duty to look after them." He looked away from the window, eased somewhat by his son's presence.  
  
"Time will heal. They are resilient, stronger, I think, than we of the Eldar," Innolas reassured him. "They live by the rhythms of the forest; they know and revere the cycle of death and renewal. When they have honored the dead they will live again."  
  
Thranduil grasped the hand on his arm, searching the face of its pale-haired owner. 'So much like his mother, so much like my mother,' he thought painfully. "You speak little of your own sadness, my son."  
  
Innolas frowned. "I grieve for _Naneth_, and for the others." He closed his eyes, a vision of his mother burning behind the lids. "My heartache lies in the missing of them, in the emptiness of these rooms and the silence of the voices that once filled them with life, in scents inextricably connected to those lost to us. They remain in my heart as I knew them once, and I find some solace in this." Nonetheless, the younger elf felt spent, as he supposed his father did. The Firstborn were no strangers to sadness; elves knew pain like no other creature. The strong learned to hoard their pain, to spend it over the many years of an immortal life, lest unbridled grief overcome the delicate heart and mind peculiar to their kindred. *19  
  
**2 Third Age, Eryn Galen**  
  
"A Woodman begs to speak with you, Aranen. He says it is a matter of great urgency."  
  
Thranduil nodded at Galion. "Bring him up."  
  
Lómaur scarcely had time to catch his breath before the elves led him into the shadowed glen and up the steep path cutting through the verdant green hillsides and pine trees. He saw nothing above until the shadows lifted suddenly and a stone building appeared improbably in the hillside. The climb left him again breathless, and he could not at first speak to the golden-haired king, who looked on him with a serious, but not unkind look.  
  
As soon as he might, he told his news of the attack on the Dúnadan king.  
  
"And what became of him?" Thranduil asked sharply.  
  
"I cannot say. I was sent hither when one of his men came to Folcagard for help. We sent our folk, but the man insisted that we go to the elves also."  
  
Thranduil alone knew the reason for this. "Galion, ready a strong company and my mount."  
  
"_Híren_, are you sure that is prudent?" the butler questioned. "If there are orcs lying wait, we may well be attacked. It is not safe." *20  
  
"We are none of us safe if Isildur is taken."  
  
They arrived far too late. Mitharas found the bodies of Isildur's sons, but no sign of the King of Arnor. Thranduil's folk set to the somber task of burying the remains while the King questioned a young man found alive, Estelmo, esquire to Isildur's son Elendur.  
  
"This I heard my lord say to the King, his father: _'Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!'_" the esquire recounted, still dazed by the blow that had ironically saved his life. *21  
  
The elves guessed that Isildur had tried to cross the Anduin, for they found his armor near the river. On the west bank they saw abandoned orc camps, but if Isildur had eluded them, then perhaps he had reached Lórinand or taken the pass at the _Ninglor_ toward Imladris. Thranduil did not then know that the ring conferred invisibility, but as no trace of Isildur's body could they locate, there was yet hope. Those skilled at tracking searched the west bank but could discover no sign of a trail, and runners soon confirmed that Isildur had not reached Lórinand. Ever more concerned, Thranduil gathered his company to bring the news to Imladris. *22  
  
**2 Third Age, Imladris**  
  
"They are coming, Naneth!" The boy pointed toward the end of the valley, at tiny figures descending on horseback.  
  
The woman looked over his shoulder - not much longer that she would be able to do that, she reckoned. For a moment, she saw the child he was quickly leaving behind, sitting content on the lap of his father. Few would guess that she had seen well over a century, for she was of the long-lived line of Elros. Still, her hair was now streaked with grey, and her face bore lines of worry and waiting - endless waiting. At last, the waiting had come to an end.  
  
A servant looked toward the party in the distance, his sharp elven eyes determining what the two mortals could not. "They are not men, but elves who approach." The lady's face fell. "Elves of the wood, I think. That is not usual. Excuse me, hirilen, I must tell _Herdir_ Elrond." *23  
  
Seventeen days had passed since the attack on Isildur and his men, and Elrond sent out search parties upon hearing Thranduil's grim tidings. His heart, however, filled with foreboding. "If he wore the ring, he should have escaped the orcs on the west bank. Yet he must have had it when he went into the water - we know he got that far." Elrond steepled his fingers under his chin thoughtfully. "Alas, that he did not turn east toward your people instead."  
  
"You keep little hope for him." Thranduil observed.  
  
Elrond acknowledged this with a nod. "It is perhaps a better fate for him. I am astonished that he carried the ring so long without evil effect."  
  
Thranduil shifted uneasily, his pale grey eyes troubled. "Yet if Isildur is lost, so too the One Ring."  
  
"With any luck, it will end in the sea. And yet…"  
  
Elrond fell silent, his own misgivings rising like bile.  
  
"…such things have a way of being found again."  
  
  


* * *

  
*1 _fëa_  

    soul (Q)  

*2 "_Iónen! Hên nîn!_"  

    "My son! My child!"  

*3 _Hîl Thranduil_  

    Heir of Thranduil  

*4 '_Adar, dannar níren o naergon nin amarth hen rennin_.'  

    'Father, my tears fall in lament for this fate I sowed.'  

*5 _Adar_  

    Father  

*6 "_Den estan Edhellendor-Vedui_."  

    "You I name Last Elvenking." - _Edhellendor-Vedui_ from _edhellen_, elven + -_dor_ (-_tor_ if it were not lenited), king; _vedui_ (lenited from _medui_), last. Obviously, I invented this name, but it is canonically accurate - after the death of Amroth, Thranduil was the last king of elves in Middle-Earth.  

*7 _Cúcherdir_  

    Bow-master  

*8 _Aranen_  

    My King  

*9 _Laegrim_  

    Green Elves, aka Laiquendi  

*10 "_Fëanor ngoll, dan law 'arn ind_."  

    "Fëanor (was) wise, but had not wisdom of the heart."  

*11 _Ingolmor_  

    Loremasters (Q - I'm hoping this is the correct plural of _Ingolmo_). Fëanor founded the school of loremasters to which Pengolodh belonged before the flight of the Noldor. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, Quendi and Eldar)  

*12 _Abonnen_  

    Man (lit. after-born)  

*13 _Anor_  

    (The) sun  

*14 _Hirilen_  

    My lady  

*15 _nanni_  

    feys (Silvan) This is constructed from _Nandini_ (Qenya Lexicon) in _The Book of Lost Tales 1_; there is a related root NAD in _The Lost Road_, 'Etymologies', referring to grasslands. The change from -_nd_ to -_nn_ is supported by one of the few words specifically related by Tolkien to the elves of Eryn Galen: _Penni_, their name for their own people, descended from Primitive Quendian _kwendí_. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 409-410, pub. Houghton Mifflin; Helge Fauskanger, 'Avarin - All Six Words', move.to/ardalambion). I'm guessing that -_i_ would likewise be the class plural ending.  

*16 _Belain_  

    Valar  

*17 "So we failed, in the end."  

    Did Thranduil know that Isildur kept the One Ring? In _LOTR_ Elrond states that only he and Círdan saw Isildur take the ring. However, one would assume others were told. It was known in the North Kingdom and Galadriel, as keeper of one of the Three, must certainly have been told. There are a few indications that Thranduil also knew. In _Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields', it is stated that three escaped the massacre of Isildur's men. They sought help from the Woodmen, who in turn sent the news to Thranduil. It seems likely that if Thranduil did not know of the continued existence of the One Ring before, he would have figured it out at this point. There is also a passage in _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' recounting Thranduil's certainty that Sauron would rise again. Those ignorant of the fate of the ring and its history believed Sauron destroyed at the end of the war.  

*18 _muindoren_  

    my brother  

*19 _Naneth_  

    Mother  

*20 _Híren_  

    My lord  

*21 _'Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!'_  

    (_Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields', p. 286 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey) Estelmo overheard the final words between Isildur and Elendur, which is how the elves and Istari were able to determine that the ring had been lost in the Gladden River, even before Gollum's part of the tale became known.  

*22 _Ninglor_  

    Gladden River  

*23 _Herdir_  

    Master  
  

  



	7. Under the Oak and the Beech

Author's Notes: Again, this chapter marks a departure from this story's companion piece, Rîn, which will shortly (I hope) be remedied. The final chapter of this story is nearer to being done than I thought - this one gave me fits, however, and having tinkered with it for over a month, I decided to let it stand.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  


  
**Under the Oak and the Beech***  


  
_"...There was in Thranduil's heart a still deeper shadow. He had seen the horror of Mordor and could not forget it. If ever he looked south its memory dimmed the light of the Sun, and though he knew that it was now broken and deserted and under the vigilance of the Kings of Men, fear spoke in his heart that it was not conquered for ever: it would arise again." _(_Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', p 271, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  
**1017 Third Age**  
  
Under a crown of blazing yellow and red flowers, Thranduil watched his folk with an indulgent eye - the excesses of the midsummer festival he knew well. In the Elder Days, the Gondolindrim welcomed the longest day with dignified silence. Such reserve mocked the very nature of the_ Penni_. [1] The Silvan folk celebrated each day with song and merrymaking; therefore must their days of feast be still more merry.  
  
Red and white crowns paired several couples: white, for the purity of their love; red, for passion and fertility. They would be bound at the rising of _Anor_. [2] Among them were Thranduil's sister-daughter and her betrothed. The King viewed this marriage with not a little sadness - Nórui had lost her heart to an Avarin elf who worked the famous vineyards of Dorwinion, and there would Nórui settle, many leagues from her kin. Though men produced the greater share of wine in that region, a very small elven community remained by the Sea of Rhûn, and they made the highly potent and prohibitively rare elven ceremonial wine. Such wine elves reserved for occasions such as this, the marriage of one of the royal house.  
  
His late wife's lovely handmaid hardly showed her fatigue, though her duties prior to the festival - and the insistent attentions of her two admirers - would daunt even one of her Eldarin blood. From Nórui she had inherited the place of Bassoneth among the elves of Thranduil's realm. Rare it was among the Eldar for an elf not of the ruling family - indeed, not even of noble birth - to hold this high honor, but the Telerin elf-maid had been far more than handmaid to Berinaeth and later to Nórui. Little instruction had Nórui needed to give to her successor, for Ríadel had in fact taught her much when Laigil's death passed the title to her daughter.  
  
Ríadel came to stand near Thranduil, hoping that none would dare to bring her a new catastrophe while she spoke with their King. "Ye shall have many _laes_ to welcome by first harvest of the next year, _Aranen_." [3, 4]  
  
"Indeed. Yavanna smiles upon those bound on Anor's special day. Would that my own house should be so blessed." Better than the rings his kindred kept, Thranduil believed, would children ward against the fading the Eldar so feared.  
  
"'Tis a pity Nórui should be taken from your house, but she shall have much happiness, I deem. She has chosen wisely in her spouse." Ríadel knew that nonetheless her King lamented the loss of Nórui's future children.  
  
"Yet perhaps I may have another binding to anticipate, if my eyes are not deceived," Thranduil observed with a sly look at Ríadel.  
  
"That I cannot so boldly predict, Aranen," she answered truthfully. Her affection she did not give stingily, and both suitors stirred her passions, yet less certainty had she of her heart. Furthermore, she did not wish to make rivalry of the friendship Faunil and Mitharas shared.  
  
Indeed, they shared more than friendship, for together they had responsibility for the defense and security of Thranduil and his folk. During the war, Mitharas had proved himself a worthy son to his warrior father. By the end of the long campaign, his gift for military strategy had made him a captain, despite his youth. The wise King had foreseen that his sister-son's bitterness and anger would find release in his daily responsibilities. Faunil had come from Ossiriand with Oropher, one of the _Laegrim_ amongst whom Oropher's people had lived in the final years of the Elder Days, and his long years of service and experience augmented Mitharas' natural talents. [5] Moreover, though assaults upon his beloved forest never failed to bring his wrath, Faunil had an even disposition that tempered the younger elf's less restrained nature.  
  
"If you would be happy, then let them look to their friendship," Thranduil counseled now. "You must look to your heart. The wishes of your King," he added with a twinkle in his eye, " you must equally disregard, for he is selfish and thinks only of filling his own house with his sister-son's offspring."  
  
Ríadel laughed at his candid admission. Before she could respond, she found herself whirled into the dancing crowd by the subject of their discussion.  
  
The Elves of Eryn Galen greeted the rising of Anor on her day of honor with their lovely voices, the gift of the Nelyar that had won the favor of Ulmo and Ossë in ancient days. When the song had finished, Thranduil invoked the Powers of the airs, stars, waters and fruits of the land and invited Eru to bless the binding of the couples who pledged their love before him. The ceremony marked the end of the night's feasting, and elves melted into the glens of the Emyn Duir, to see to chores and sleep off the potent wine.  
  
"The wolves grow bolder, or so say the men of the Vale," Mitharas announced, as he and Faunil settled themselves onto a _talan_ near the hidden path that led to their dwellings. [6] They replaced a sleepy elf and took his watch together, each eager to speak with the other.  
  
"Ai, I too might have had a few hours' rest, my friend," Faunil complained.  
  
"Or perhaps less wine," Mitharas teased.  
  
"Something odd is about, I can hear the trees whispering of it," Faunil returned to his friend's initial words.  
  
"The men say orcs increase in number, too." Orcs were not so unlike elves in this way - they did not breed when conditions were not conducive to their species. This thought Mitharas quickly put from his mind.  
  
Faunil sighed. "Cannot these evils leave us in peace? If we are not beset by Númenóreans, we are harassed by creatures of Morgoth. And the accursed dwarves have again been cutting trees for fuel."  
  
"Always from our side of the river - they dare not cut from Lórinand. Amroth's folk have grown strong. Orophin tells me they rousted a great company of orcs from the pass over Caradhras. He thinks they have moved north, as Lórinand has been vigilant." Mitharas stood to stretch his legs, smiling at the antics of a pair of squirrels.  
  
"The lady Galadriel is there again, too."  
  
"I wonder what that signifies," Mitharas mused.  
  
"That Imladris is not big enough for the Peredhel Master and the Grande Dame of the Noldor." The laughter of the two elves rang like clear bells in the quiet morning, alerting any foe to their overhead presence and entirely undermining their watch.  
  
Faunil recalled the reason he and his friend had sought one another this morning. "Mitharas, I wish not to let Ríadel come between us."  
  
"Yet only one of us can have her heart in the end," Mitharas sobered at the other elf's change of subject.  
  
"Then we shall have to accept her choice, but now, we may share such favors as she allows us, and so be not separated in our friendship," Faunil said optimistically.  
  
Mitharas frowned; his heart warned him this matter would end in tears. Born in the hopeless years after the breaking of the leaguer of Angband, the elf-maid was like stardust - unquenchable, eternal. He saw much later, much too late, that his own fire outshone the distant, yet even brighter starshine. Faunil, more like faithful Ithil, lit by the flame of another, yet unerring in his devotion, would be her compliment, drawing her light to him. Had any of the three paid more mind, they might have seen this. Yet none could have known the depth of loss that would come to them, or how thus tested, Mitharas would find solace from a quarter none expected.  
  
While his sister-son and Faunil discussed matters of the heart, Thranduil returned to his library, uneasy, though he knew not why. Dearly he missed his sister's far sight at these times. He sensed a disturbance in the forest, but could not judge its focal point. He heard rumors of trouble in the eastern kingdom of Rhovanion; the Easterlings grew more bold and violent. Thoughtfully, he looked out the delicately leaded panes of his window as Anor swept her golden light across the western slope of the glen. In a few minutes, her rays would reach his library, and Galion, if he were not yet asleep, would hurry in to close the shutters, lest Anor at her strength overheat the room. Now, though, the morning looked peaceful, a mist rising from the glen as the morning dew evaporated. What evil could enter where elves dwelt?  


  
**~~~**  


  
The years had eroded the echo of Amon Lanc's former residents and the consequent sanctity of the place. Nonetheless, only the Witch-king could strip it of the last vestiges of the Firstborn. Though entirely subordinate to - indeed, incapable of acting independently of - his Dark Lord, he had possessed in life powers derived not from Sauron. Such powers largely manifested themselves as mere parlor tricks, yet in his blood the waning influence of Melian emerged out of countless generations of Númenóreans. Feared and misunderstood by his family, the sullen youth had come to malice under the fair guise of Annatar's friendship and encouragement. The Maia honed his gift for sorcery, but not until the first of the Nine encircled his finger did he know the fullness of his power. From the Hither Lands had he now come, for his Dark Lord would soon awake from his healing slumber.  
  
**1030 Third Age**  
  
Faunil led the party, his senses finely tuned to the minute changes in the forest. For five days his instincts took the elves southwest of Emyn Duir, until the foreboding grew so potent none of the elves could shake it from their bones. In the distance they could see the ancient dwellings of their people at Amon Lanc. Since Oropher's folk deserted it in the second millennium of the Middle Years, it had been home at various times to men and to elves of Lórinand.  
  
Faunil stopped them. "Let us go no further." Mitharas nodded his agreement. They stared at Amon Lanc, sensing that the unwholesome air came from the ancient citadel. "It is occupied again," Faunil said, confirming Mitharas' unvoiced thoughts.  
  
Mitharas studied the hill, knowing it had somehow changed. "The wildflowers! The flowers have not bloomed this year." Indeed, the flanks of the hill were as naked as its name implied. Mitharas shuddered - what would drive even flowers into hiding?  
  
**1045 Third Age**  
  
"Aranen, the lord Celeborn and his lady Galadriel have arrived," Galion announced. [7]  
  
Thranduil had hardly spoken to Celeborn since Oropher's quarrel with his cousin. His late father's sense that his cousin had betrayed him and his own wariness of Galadriel's ambition had preserved the distance between the families. He acknowledged Amroth as the rightful King of Lórinand, and though Galadriel respected Amroth's sovereignty, her presence there divided the land's diverse peoples. Thranduil guessed that only a matter of some gravity would bring his kin hither.  
  
He met them in his library, the pride of his dwellings. The Wood folk made only what they needed and some to trade for what they could not make. Yet few, even among the haughty Noldor, could surpass their skill as carvers of wood and weavers of cloth. Their finest work they reserved for cherished gifts, and the ornately carved furnishings and embroidered coverings of Thranduil's library bore witness to both their talent and their love for their King.  
  
"I trust your journey passed unhindered?" Thranduil asked politely.  
  
"Unhindered, yes, for the dwarf road is well-kept and some of your folk accompanied us from the time we left the road," Celeborn answered.  
  
Impatiently, Thranduil put an end to this small talk. Though he recognized he could ill afford to let old feuds stand in the way of tidings important to his people, he would not pretend to an amity that did not exist. "What errand brings you to Eryn Galen?" he asked finally.  
  
Celeborn at once saw his kinsman's meaning. "We have observed strange happenings at Amon Lanc."  
  
"My own people have reported this already. We are not so provincial here that we do not keep tabs on the lands outside our realm," Thranduil said.  
  
"We have perhaps more opportunity for observation in Lórinand," Galadriel said smoothly. Studying the King of Eryn Galen, she continued. "We see shadow where there should be light. A wind of menace blows from the east, stronger at night, when the hill is shrouded from starlight and cannot be seen at all."  
  
Her identification with Lórinand irritated Thranduil. "These things are known to my people. They have seen also that the wildflowers no longer grow upon the hill, and that the vegetation surrounding it has thickened - malicious weeds spread and bogs appear."  
  
Celeborn sensed the tension in the room. "We know not the source of such dark happenings, but our suspicions, I think, are mutual."  
  
Thranduil nodded in understanding. "The men of Gondor watch still over Mordor?"  
  
Celeborn fixed his eyes on the wall, seeming to study the fine oak paneling, upon which now hung the portrait of Thranduil's mother, the portrait Oropher had so treasured. Yet Celeborn saw these things not; his far sight looked further. "They watch, but their attention wanes, they have forgotten their history. They are concerned more with expanding their kingdom than any threat from the east."  
  
"They are men. Our living memories are but ancient history to mortals," Thranduil said, resigned. Though his people diminished in importance, and though a man had tarnished the victory dearly bought in Mordor, the responsibility of vigilance would remain with the elves. 'We have not always been wise, but at least we are not doomed by ignorance to repeat the mistakes of the past,' he thought.  
  
'What we do not always see is how our memory of the past colors the present, son of Oropher.'  
  
The King looked suspiciously at Galadriel, too disturbed by her intrusion into his thoughts to consider the truth of her message. Her presence unsettled him, and though he hosted his kin for several days until their leave-taking, he did so only as courtesy demanded. Though no secrets had he to hide, he nonetheless felt exposed before Galadriel's sight, and parted from her without regret.  
  
The disturbance of the forest spread northeast from Dol Guldur, bringing the shadow closer to them, until at last only the realm guarded by the elves remained nearly pristine. Mitharas found his patience severely tried by the younger guards - those born after the war - who knew little of the danger they faced. The vegetation grew so dense with hostile weeds that the light no longer penetrated the roof of the forest, and men began to call the murky darkness by a new name: Mirkwood. Elves called it Taur-e-Ndaedelos, Forest of the Great Fear, or Taur-nu-Fuin, recalling the haunted forest of Dorthonion. Fantastical beings stalked in the dark shadows under the trees, and Mitharas found it difficult to separate fact from fear in the tales of the Woodmen.  
  
"The squirrels, for example," he said to Faunil as they investigated one rather dubious report. "They seem no more threatening than the squirrels we have always had, save that they are black."  
  
"Perhaps they are the same squirrels, but as the forest grows darker, their fur has darkened to blend in better," his friend guessed.  
  
Mitharas nodded, trusting his friend's woodcraft. Without warning, an enormous black creature sprang from the gloom, missing them only by the grace of elven quickness. As one, the elves turned and sent the thing to its death with a volley of arrows.  
  
Cautiously, they examined their kill. "Well, this at least is no rumor," Mitharas observed, staring at the enormous spider they had felled.  
  
"No - the thing the men described had ten dozen legs. This, my friend, has only eight," Faunil argued. Finding a long stick, he poked at the horrible thing - cautiously.  
  
Mitharas wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I shall be certain to have that inscribed on your tomb: 'Here lies Faunil - but the spider who ate him had only eight legs'. Eight very hairy legs, I might add."  
  
"Ah, what I would not give for a nice, cuddly orc!" The _Laegel_ glanced at the sky. [8] "It grows late. We had best return to the hills - this ugly fellow may have kin we should not like to meet."  
  
Thranduil's brow tightened as the two elves told of their kill. He had heard murmurs of such a thing during the siege of Barad-dûr, and thought then of the great spiders of Nan Dungortheb. Perhaps the spider of Mordor had fled with other creatures of darkness when Sauron was struck down, but if this were so, it had returned, for the _yngyl_ could be naught but the progeny of Ungoliant. [9]  
  
Yellow-eyed wolves now appeared, steaming with menace as they stalked the forest - too horrible to be real, and all too real to be myth. They had little fear of elves and, unlike common wolves, they hungered for the kill, not for food. Worse, the enchantment that had long protected the Emyn Duir proved but a hindrance to these creatures; some sorcery had they of their own. If daylight seemed to daunt the fell beings, at night the glens of the hills echoed with bone-chilling howls as they dared to come ever closer to Thranduil's folk. Uneasy in this forest that had suddenly turned on him, his thoughts drifted from wargs of Mirkwood to werewolves of Tol na Gaurhoth; their creator could not but be one and the same. The skill of the Silvan archers held them at bay, thinning the pack, yet the King saw they could not withstand this assault indefinitely. With great reluctance, Thranduil determined he must move his people north.  
  
**1060 Third Age**  
  
"I might have guessed the lady would find willing volunteers to guard her as she bathed."  
  
"That you were fool enough to bathe without setting a watch I cannot help, but the lady has more concern for her safety," Mitharas insisted, his eyes fixed upon the elf he was meant to protect.  
  
Innolas shook his head. "Her safety is assured, but I fear her modesty may not survive untarnished.  
  
With expressions of mock outrage, Ríadel's besotted admirers looked away as she waded to the riverbank. Innolas shook his head. "You had best take your turns before the sun sets. Now that I am clean, you both smell like orcs."  
  
"Nay, 'tis orcs who smell like orcs," Faunil disagreed, jumping up as Mitharas let out a piercing whistle.  
  
"Yrch!" he announced.  
  
On the bank of the river, Ríadel heard the warning and hurried to finish dressing. Climbing into the nearest tree, she sat still as only an elf can, the summer greens of her clothes blending into the foliage so that only the tree could know of her presence.  
  
On the cliff the orcs - or rather, orc, as no others had been spotted - lead his pursuers in a merry chase. The orc knew these cliffs as the elves did not, and for a time he eluded them by ducking into a ravine. Heavily outnumbered and slowing quickly in the sun, the orc came out of the ravine just under Ríadel's tree. The elves scrambled down from the cliff and hurried to catch up. The orc found himself caught between the river and the pursuit. Ríadel threw her knife, putting an end to his unhappy dilemma.  
  
"Well done, my lady," Faunil said, as Ríadel dropped from the tree. "I have not had my bath yet, and I did not want that filthy thing in the river."  
  
"Indeed, I thought he would take to the water."  
  
"He would have drowned, anyhow - they must have come from the Tatyar, they are hopeless in water."  
  
"Must you speak of such things?" Mitharas glared at his friend, who shrugged good-naturedly and turned his attention back to the elf-maid. Mitharas ignored their banter, looking thoughtfully after the cliff they had descended during their pursuit. "Why just one orc?"  
  
"You were hoping for more, my friend?" Faunil asked.  
  
Innolas understood his cousin's puzzle. Orcs were social creatures, despite their endless quarrelling. Though they sometimes traveled in pairs rather than great companies, never did they travel far alone. Where they had found one, more must lurk. The elves returned to the cliff on silent feet.  
  
Further exploration turned up a cave well-hidden, yet with an odor too foul to escape their notice. Faunil, sober now, signaled the chance of a trap to his friend. Mitharas nodded, for this danger had occurred to him. Yet they were far from any village of men or elves, and if orcs planned an attack, he would rather face them in daylight than under dark of night.  
  
As they neared the entrance of the cave, however, voices floated out, and the elves paused.  
  
"Sharuk said to wait here," came a guttural voice in Westron, distinctly orkish in quality, yet slightly higher in pitch.  
  
"Nar! You can wait. Sharuk's been trying to sneak off for days. You stay and starve with these babies. I bet you'll wish you'd been with me."  
  
Innolas understood suddenly, and beckoned the elves away from the caves. "They are orc children - they hide their broods away from the mountains for fear that other packs will kill their young."  
  
Faunil did not like his friend's expression. "I think that orc **was** planning to desert this brood," Mitharas said thoughtfully. "To his misfortune, we chose to rest here."  
  
Innolas nodded. "He had come too far from the cave to be on watch. When he heard our voices, he probably looked to hide until we were gone - Ríadel came out of the water and Faunil turned his head unexpectedly, else the orc would have got cleanly away."  
  
"Some of the bigger ones may have arms, we shall have to be cautious," Mitharas said.  
  
"Surely you do not think to kill them?" Faunil questioned. "They are but children."  
  
"Orc children," Mitharas corrected, "who will be full-grown orcs."  
  
"Helpless orc children," Ríadel argued. "I am not so certain that orc was not trying to draw us off, to protect them."  
  
"So too will a wolf guarding her cubs." All beings of a certain level of intelligence had the instinct to protect their offspring; the species would not survive without it.  
  
"You would not kill wolf cubs," Faunil pointed out.  
  
"Wolves are not innately evil. They are but predators. That brood will not remain helpless, and do not think they will keep any good will toward elves if we spare them. They will kill just as those of Mordor killed your brother and my father," Mitharas said flatly.  
  
With a sigh, Innolas went to stand by his cousin. He would not have Mitharas bear the guilt for this alone. Though by nature a peacekeeper, he saw his cousin's argument. These children were not innocent, though they be innocents. The shadow of Morgoth ran in their veins - they could not be turned from evil.  
  
The guard split evenly between their leaders. "None need follow me in this if it be against their hearts," Mitharas announced.  
  
The older children attempted a pathetic resistance, but were soon silenced. The little ones huddled in terror. Uncertain now, Innolas looked at Mitharas. His eyes were cold, his face expressionless. Yet under the mask of indifference, Innolas knew his cousin hid a turmoil of emotions - hate, inspired by the loss of his father, and pity, for he understood that orcs responded to instincts not innate but instilled by Morgoth.  
  
Three days now passed, but the party remained troubled as they followed the Forest River east. Thranduil had sent them to find a new home, but Ríadel's tumultuous heart could hardly concentrate on the King's charge. Mitharas was not cruel or malicious. She could not understand his cold appraisal of the orcs. She loved not the creatures, but she wondered if the slaughter of helpless children did not reduce them to the same meanness of spirit.  
  
These ruminations so occupied her that she nearly stepped on Innolas, who had halted in front of her. The cliffs that rose from the banks of the Forest River had yielded another cave, this one happily unoccupied. They had considered several locations, but this place, the elves agreed, proved the most promising. Here in the northeastern tip of the forest, the oppressive air of Mirkwood gave way, as though the elves had entered a guarded realm.  


  
**~~~**  


  
Thranduil rubbed his eyes, weary of his task. Papers were spread in every direction about his library: Mitharas' meticulous notations, short and to the point; Faunil's more hurried hand; Innolas' copious notes, written in a hand that was art in itself; Ríadel's textbook hand. Her notes differed entirely from those of her counterparts, as she had been charged to collect the details the male elves would miss. In none of these reports could he find what he sought: a reason for the sudden strife between the four, who had been easy with one another when they left.  
  
In any case, Ríadel had clearly made her choice. Thranduil could not begrudge Faunil his happiness, but he had hoped to see Mitharas bound. It had been long since a baby's laughter brought cheer to his home. He wished to see the empty rooms filled again with family, to chase away the ghosts of the departed.  
  
He turned back to the scattered notes, pausing as a passage caught his eye. "There is good-sized cave that might serve well for storage and perhaps defense. The river flows toward Long Lake and the settlements men have made there, though the current is not so swift that one may not use it for both forth and return journeys. I need not point out the benefit to trade. The area is on the very edge of the forest, with a thinning east of the confluence of the Forest River and the _Nennulla_.[10] Here there is a great stand of beech trees, quite unlike the chestnuts and maples of the forest interior."  
  
He stared at the hand of his sister-son and recalled Laigil's prophecy of old: "_Ad radathag am mbar gîn, muindoren_."[11] Such beech trees he recalled with fondness from his youth in Doriath. In his many years and travels across Arda, he had not seen their likeness. The cave, too, intrigued him. Anor had hardly risen before he woke Mitharas and prepared for the journey north.  
  
The younger elf remained taciturn, offering little encouragement to Thranduil's delicate inquiries. The King could be persistent when he wished, but he sensed much of the mother's reticence in the son. Laigil had spoken only reluctantly of what troubled her; like her father, she had been inclined to brood, and so too was her son Mitharas. Such dark thoughts Thranduil did not wish to encourage in his brittle sister-son, but neither did he wish to press the subject when the wounds were clearly raw.  
  
The beeches proved as magnificent as Thranduil remembered, rustling softly in the breeze, their long, graceful trunks opening to perfect globes of branch and leaf. A steep cliff rose from the bank of the river on either side of the entrance to the cave, but before the cave lay some 30 ells of flat terrace. [12] Only by water could friend or foe easily approach the cave, and then only with stairs cut into the river's steep bank. Now Thranduil's party used ropes to descend from the cliffs, having deemed the river bank too treacherous. Cautiously they explored the cave, though Mitharas thought there was no danger - he found no bones signifying a recent occupant, nor the foul smell and air of orcs. Rather, a wholesomeness pervaded the caverns. They extended much farther into the cliff than Mitharas and his companions had first judged, and Thranduil, though hardly a stonemason, thought the limestone might be delved further, to enlarge the cave and some of the passages and inner chambers.  
  
The King could not help but think of Menegroth, as his mind expanded upon Mitharas' original assessment of the cave as a place for storage and defense. His people needed nothing so grand as Thingol's palace, and he knew in any case that Wood Elves would not forsake their trees for life underground. Nonetheless, already he saw his hall in one of the high vaults within.  
  
They left the caverns reluctantly and swam across the river. The beeches eventually melted into the great forest, but the evil influence of the squatter at Dol Guldur had not reached this far corner of Mirkwood. Here, light still illuminated the aisles of the forest, and innocent creatures frolicked in the trees, perhaps more numerous than one might expect, as they, like elves and men, had been driven from their former dwellings.  
  
The four days' journey back to the Emyn Duir took four days too many, the impatient King thought. When at last he returned, he sent his son to the Iron Hills, for his people had little skill in stonemasonry. [13] Completion of the underground palace came not too soon. Some new sorcery arose in the Nennulla, rendering it unfit for use by elf or mortal. Thranduil recalled the tainted waters of Mordor with a shudder. Despite his fondness for the dwellings his father had built in the hills, he could not escape them too soon for his liking.  


  
**~~~**  


  
They had not long removed to the caverns when an odd little man, elderly as mortals reckoned their life phases, asked for an audience with the King. The man seemed not to be what he appeared, and after some moments of idle talk Thranduil recognized the man for what he was. Yet once before had such a creature asked to speak with the King of the forest, and Thranduil was wary, though his instincts assured him that no evil lay in the Maia.  
  
"I see you have discovered my riddle," _Aiwendil_ read his thoughts with a smile. [14] "Your reticence is understandable, but fear not: I come to oppose the Enemy, as a friend of the free peoples and servant to the Valar."  
  
"Then it is as I feared. Sauron rises again." Thranduil could not hide his dismay, though he had long known that the evil on the hill must answer to the Dark Lord.  
  
"This we no longer doubt," the Maia confirmed. "I have taken up my dwellings on the west end of the forest, so as to better observe the core of this shadow that has fallen upon your fair lands, and in any case I would choose to abide among the trees, for I serve Yavanna. I think Sauron has not yet the strength to act on his own, but nonetheless his power through his servants is formidable. The _Úlairi_ have again been seen, and one may hold your ancient dwellings." [15]  
  
"I know not which angers me more - that we have been forced from the Emyn Duir by this foul wraith, or that such an abomination now occupies the fair citadel of Lenwë and my father," Thranduil said, dismayed.  
  
He invited his visitor to stay, but Aiwendil would be gone, missing already his birds. As they passed through the grand entranceway, the Maia paused. The ceiling sloped upward from the enchanted door, in natural line with the slope above the river, and the dwarves had carved arching vaults into the ceiling. In the center of the room, a natural cold spring had been coaxed through a fountain, and Aiwendil stood near it, listening. "The music of Ulmo is loud in these waters. He has ever loved your people, and made this spring and the stream that runs through the nether chambers, waiting long for the Nelyar to return to this place. While your ancestors tarried on the Great March it was filled with song and merry footsteps, and so it is again."  
  
He turned his attention to the exquisitely carved nude in the middle of the fountain. "There is a story in that statue," Aiwendil observed. Despite the unblemished condition of the marble, the Maia's sharp eye traced the origin of the statue to the Elder Days. That it survived in the Fading Days suggested that it had made some strange travels.  
  
On an errand to the Iron Hills during the delving of Thranduil's cavern, Innolas had come upon the statue by mischance. A wrong turn had taken him into the private workrooms of the dwarves, and though they had not yet completed their restoration of the work, the elf easily recognized its value. Persuaded that he must see the statue, Thranduil barely disguised the gleam in his eye when the dwarf artisan displayed his work. Now nearly restored - and he conceded the dwarf had done a fine job - he knew it at once, though only by hearsay.  
  
"A fine work of our people in ancient times, Elf-King," the dwarf pushed. Thranduil knew, however, no child of Aulë had created this wonder. The original artist was, in fact, one Finrod Felagund. The subject whose form Finrod had memorialized remained a secret, though whispers named the statue after its alleged inspiration.  
  
The Lúthien had fortunately passed into the hands of men rather than orcs in the sack of Nargothrond. [16] The elven statue possessed a beauty even Easterlings must appreciate, and so it had escaped destruction. For years it had been lost, carried east by men into Eriador, and eventually bought by dwarves with more respect for artistry than the near barbaric owners south of Mirkwood.  
  
Few artists might dare to reproduce the fairest child of elves or men, but such a challenge Elvenkind's finest sculptor could not resist. As the father of the statue's inspiration was not known for temperance where his daughter was concerned, a veil wrought by the figure's tresses kept her identity safe, though rumor held that from the right angle one could discover the hidden features. Here the genius of the dwarven artisan was most evident, for the delicate locks had suffered the greatest damage over the millennia, and only the most critical eye might find fault with the restored tresses.  
  
Thranduil wore a bland expression as he and Innolas haggled with the dwarves, that the sellers would not guess how ardently he desired the statue. He was but returning the statue to its rightful owners, Thranduil reasoned, justifying his deception. The price they negotiated he thought fair for the quality of the dwarf's work, but it hardly approached the real value of the statue. Eventually would the dwarves learn of its worth, scarcely improving relations between the two peoples and cementing the distrust that would one day bring them to the brink of war.  
  
**1636 Third Age**  
  
The road to the capital of Rhovanion bore signs of heavy use. The King's men had built sturdy bridges where the road crossed gullies and streams, testifying to the road's importance to Rhovanion. Numerous ruts pitted its surface where wagon wheels had stuck in the spring mud, and many lesser roads branched off into the wilds of the kingdom. Today, however, the two elves had yet to meet another soul.  
  
"Odd," Innolas murmured. The moist heat of the afternoon weighed on them oppressively, but still, few men might let weather keep them from their trade. The Wilderland's harsh winter lurked behind the deceptive heat, and no creature could afford to waste the precious days of summer. "Faunil remarked the lack of traffic on the Celduin just yesterday - I then thought nothing of it," he mused.  
  
Mitharas grimaced. He supposed that he bore the greater fault in the coolness that had grown between him and his old friend, but he could not help his jealousy. He looked up to see his cousin gazing at him intently. "I know what counsel you would give, so you may keep it," he said, rather more bluntly than he intended.  
  
Innolas was undeterred. "You were friends, once. You knew it must come to this, that Ríadel would make her choice."  
  
"This, I know. Yet, I cannot look on him without regret at what I lost. You cannot understand - you have never loved."  
  
The older elf looked at him strangely. "You are wrong in that."  
  
Mitharas pulled up on his horse. They were nearing the village of Azûlkan, and still this silence surrounded them. He did not like the feel of it. But more, he wished to question his cousin further. Somehow, he had never considered his cousin's existence a millennium before his own birth. It seemed absurd to connect sentiment with the dispassionate elf who rode beside him. "What happened?"  
  
Innolas had continued on. Now he turned his horse back, and looked at the other elf long before he spoke. "What we desire most is often what we should not have." He tilted his head in the direction of the village gates, inviting no further discussion. "What say you, shall we risk our palates at the tavern here and perhaps find a cause for this quiet?"  
  
Mitharas nodded his assent, though his cousin's answer had hardly satisfied his curiosity. They rode on toward the village, surprised to find no one holding the gates. Their surprise soon turned to revulsion as the stench of decay overwhelmed them. The two elves coughed and covered their faces with handkerchiefs as they noted the empty street, the eerie silence.  
  
"What has happened here?" the elf wondered aloud. As if in response, a maid burst from a house ahead of them.  
  
"My lords, come no further, there is plague here! Take yourselves home, and be glad if evil spirits do not follow you." The maid looked to be unaffected by any plague, but nearly starved.  
  
Innolas dismounted. "We have no fear of plague, we are elves. Where are the others? Are there none who have escaped this sickness?"  
  
"Few, my lord, save those who in death atone for their sins."  
  
The elf-lord forced his face to remain impassive, though he could guess at the foolishness that had reigned in this disaster. Mitharas brought forth from his pack some lembas, which the maid nearly swallowed whole in her hunger. She told them that the sickness had taken Rhovanion from the south. "From the Easterlings, they say," she added, scowling. The last messenger to dare to ride through had reported that the capital was likewise stricken.  
  
This altered their plans considerably. The King of Rhovanion - if he were not also taken ill or dead - would hardly wish to discuss tariffs at this time. Under the circumstances, Innolas thought it best to return to Northern Mirkwood, for he wished to discuss the matter with his father. As yet he had heard no rumor of illness in the settlements along the Long Lake, but the men there were endangered, certainly. Economic ties bound his people closely to the men by the lake, and both friendship and necessity demanded intervention.  
  
Thranduil shared his son's concern. Though such sickness did not affect elves, their livestock - save their horses, purebred descent from those brought by the exilic Noldor from Aman - were subject to various infectious ailments. The Silvan folk had grown skilled in the healing of animals. Cleanliness of body and house were indigenous to elves, and they kept cats to control vermin and smudged their outbuildings and huts with thyme to discourage fleas. Thus their livestock often escaped the scourges that afflicted the herds of men, and though men noted the uncommon health of the elven beasts, most attributed this to elven magic and would not change their ways.  
  
Men, in ignorant superstition, had done everything possible to worsen the epidemic. They feared bathing and cats, and regarded elven healers as sorcerers, rejecting their incense and medicinal teas. It had not always been so, for the Númenóreans had learned much of the elves of Lindon and Tol Eressëa, and among the Dúnedain such knowledge persisted. Though a few exiles of Númenor had settled in Rhovanion, most of the Northmen were akin to the House of Hador; they descended from those who remained east when Marach led his folk to Beleriand. [17] In ancient times, Lenwë's people had befriended such men, but what the elves had taught their ancestors the men of the present day had forgotten.  
  
"Perhaps, _Adar_, the dwarves may be of help?" [18]  
  
Innolas might have suggested they invite orcs to their next feast for the dark looks cast by his father and cousin. He hurried to explain himself. "Men have more trust in them, and perhaps they can persuade the men at Long Lake to heed our counsel." Despite the enmity between the two races, dwarves had learned to value the healing arts of the elves, just as the loremasters of Durin's folk had earned the respect of the Firstborn. The long lifespan of dwarves and their meticulously maintained traditions guarded against superstitions of men and preserved the collected wisdom of the centuries.  
  
Indeed, the memory of a dwarf rarely dimmed, and if such memory hoarded knowledge, it also harbored grudges. "There is the matter of the Lúthien, for which we were insufficiently compensated." In his hall under the Iron Hills, Lopt crossed his arms and regarded the Elvenking coolly.  
  
"That is false. We paid the price asked," Thranduil answered sharply.  
  
"Yet, the price was not fair. The artisan did not know the true value of the statue ," Lopt insisted.  
  
"In such a circumstance the _Naugrim_ would do the same," Thranduil argued, his temper rising. [19] "The Lúthien was wrongly stolen from the elves. You cannot expect to earn the full value of the statue when it came into your hands by such irregular means. I paid for the restoration, which was well-done and worth the price."  
  
"My people know nothing of this theft. We bought the statue from men. You walk a fine line, elf-king, if you accuse us of wrongdoing here." The dwarf's eyes narrowed, challenging his visitor to continue in this line of reasoning.  
  
Innolas broke in hastily. "Can we not put this matter aside? For we come here with the welfare of our mutual allies in mind, and our purposes are ill-served by such enmity."  
  
"Of what do you speak? It is not the habit of your people to trouble themselves with the well-being of other folk."  
  
This barb Thranduil ignored with effort. "We speak of the plague threatening Long Lake."  
  
Lopt frowned. "We have heard rumors of plague to the south, and our folk in the Grey Mountains report that it has decimated the orc population." [20]  
  
"You may concern yourselves with the well-being of orcs, if you wish," Thranduil said snidely. "We care only for the danger to men."  
  
The dwarf puffed with injured honor at Thranduil's words. Innolas hurried to smooth the troubled waters again. "My father spoke rashly - for the Longbeards' defiance of Sauron's minions we have only respect."  
  
"I would hear it from him." From the look on the dwarf's face, he was immovable on this. Innolas looked at his father, his own expression unyielding.  
  
The stubbornness of Oropher wrestled with Thranduil's better sense. "My son speaks truly of my ill-considered words," he compromised at last. "We come not as adversaries, and this quibbling hurts only those who need help."  
  
"It is good that Mitharas was not with us, we likely would have ended in that dwarf's dungeons," Innolas remarked as they left. His mouth had a bad taste - how he loathed dealings with the stunted folk.  
  
Rumors of the epidemic had come to Long Lake, and men there proved willing, in their fear, to do all that the folk of Lopt and Thranduil advised them to do. There the disease proved less virulent, but beyond Hithaeglir and south of the Ered Nimrais it continued to spread, though elves and dwarves of Eriador and Lindon were likewise moved by compassion to do what they could for the _Engwar_. [21] The plague knew no boundaries of dominion or allegiance, and devastated free men and allies of darkness alike. Though Angmar came no closer to winning Fornost, the Witch-king arose nonetheless as the clear victor amid the wreckage.  
  
In Eriador, the plague left many parts desolate, and the few Dúnedain still defending Cardolan perished. Nor were the graves of the last princes of Cardolan left unmolested, for an evil out of Angmar now entered Tyrn Gorthad, malevolent spirits to remain long after the Witch-king's defeat. Rhovanion withered, leaving it ripe for the attack of the Wainriders two centuries later. Yet the chief loss lay in the south. The wise later came to believe that the Nazgûl had sent the plague among his own allies, that it would spread into the Southern Kingdom. For with the death of their king and their great losses, the men of Gondor abandoned the watch on Mordor. All had now been made ready for the return of the Witch-king's master.  
  
**1750 Third Age**  
  
Ríadel lit a candle as the light began to fail and looked anxiously toward the window. Faunil was late tonight - the stars would soon open, and they often walked along the river at that time, when the Wood Elves raised their fair voices to honor the Lady. She had again taken up her book when a rap at the door sounded. Surprise at finding Mitharas on the doorstep turned quickly to fear. Her heart beat painfully against her ribs as she looked into the wide eyes of the shaking elf. "_Mitharas! Man doltha le si?_" [22]  
  
"Wargs," he said hoarsely. He gripped the doorframe as though he feared he would fall.  
  
"'Tis Faunil, he has been hurt? Where is he?" Ríadel took her cloak from a peg on the wall.  
  
"No, stay, my lady. You must not - "  
  
"Must not what?" She grasped her friend by the shoulders and shook him none too gently. "Mitharas, what has happened?"  
  
The elf dropped into a chair, resting his head in his hands, his strength at last failing. "He took his guard into the woods, to hunt the wargs, thinking perhaps to catch them unawares in the daylight. Yet they are cunning beasts, for they laid the trail to their lair with care, and gathered others of their kind. The company that went into the woods, only one returned."  
  
The horror dawned in her heart, and Ríadel stood very still.  
  
Mitharas lifted his head, watching her, trying to drive the image of his friend's mutilated corpse from his mind. His friend…they had drawn apart, yet such estrangement, he discovered, did not lessen his grief. As for Ríadel, he kept still his love for her, and felt keenly her pain.  
  
Outside, the elves sang to the twilight, their song mournful as tidings of the fallen company became known to all.  
  
The remains of elves do not truly decompose, but fade quickly. A funeral is for the living, to gather friends to share in mourning and remembrance. Thranduil would have wanted to honor the long-faithful elf by burial with his family, but their graves lay in the shadow of the _Emyn-nu-Fuin_, now defiled by habitations of orcs. [23] The burial ground itself, at least, remained untouched, as orcs had learned to fear the barrows of elves. For not all of the dead obeyed the call of Mandos, and such elves remained as shades in Arda, jealously guarding the burial places of their own _hroar_ and those of their kindred. [24, 25]  
  
Mitharas remained longest by the grave, even after Ríadel had gone to her empty hut. He had shed no tears for his friend - dry had his eyes been since his father's death at Dagorlad. At last, he returned to the caverns, filled with life, yet yawning with emptiness dwarfed only by the cavern in his heart. He saw pity, which angered him; he saw avoidance, as though his pain might be contagious; he saw sorrow, and averted his own eyes. He saw his cousin follow him to his rooms, and for a moment he knelt again over his father's body, the screams and smells of the battlefield an echo of his grief, and hands pulled at him, pulled him away.  
  
Spinning, his chambers returned to him, and he felt sick. "_Araseg, gwanuren melethen_," Innolas whispered, holding him close as at last the tears fell freely. [26] Mitharas knew not how long they remained thus, or when he at last had no more tears, and sat still with his head against his cousin's shoulder, his heart at last burning off the ice that had bound it.  
  
Thranduil paused in the passage outside his sister-son's room, understanding the depth of what had passed between the two elves. That his children - for so he thought of his sister-son - had found comfort in one another, both relieved and disturbed him. He would not see Mitharas destroyed by the bitter anger and grief that had afflicted his father. What affection they might share must nonetheless remain between their hearts, for that was their law. Yet love has little respect for the laws its victims might make to constrain its caprices. A wise and ancient king though he might be, Thranduil knew little of the heart's conceit. And so he was quite unprepared for what was to come.  
  


* * *

  
Notes on Silvan Elvish: While vacationing last month, I started to look at the few words we have of Tolkien's Nandorin language, and devised a list of phonetic and a few grammatical changes that occurred between Common Eldarin and Nandorin. It seems that Tolkien decided, in the end (1972), that the elves of Mirkwood did speak a 'related language or dialect' distinct from Sindarin. (ref. _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, 'Letter 347' p 425 pub. Houghton Mifflin) In _LOTR_ of course, we are told that what Frodo supposed to be another language spoken by Legolas and Haldir in Lórien was, in fact, Sindarin, but in Letter 347, Tolkien notes that Lórien, with more Sindarin and Noldorin influence, had lost the native Silvan tongue. Nandorin, of course, was not precisely the language of Eryn Galen - it was the language as it evolved among Denethor's people in Beleriand after they left Eryn Galen. This would provide a fictional explanation for the real world problem of Tolkien's later writings on the subject, which conflict with the language as found in _The Lost Road_, 'Etymologies' (words marked as _Dan._). By the Third Age, Silvan Elvish must have been a mix of what little Nandorin remained among the Green Elves returning east with Oropher, as well as Doriathrin and mature (Imladris) Sindarin. At any rate, I've used the examples given by Tolkien to determine how a few new words might be rendered in Silvan Elvish. I'm hardly a linguist, so take my guesswork with a grain of salt. Two excellent sources for information regarding Nandorin and Common Eldarin are Helge Fauskanger (move.to/ardalambion) and Ryszard Derdzinski (t of Rohan. I've used an Adûnaic name for the village of Azûlkan ('East-hold') to reflect the old Númenórean influence.   
  
[18] _Adar_  
    Father  
  
[19] _Naugrim_  
    Dwarves  
  
[20] 'it has decimated the orc population'  
    Orcs were subject to disease, and presumably were affected by the plague. (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Myths Transformed Part X' p 418 pub. Houghton Mifflin) Dwarves, incidentally, were immune to infectious disease. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Making of Appendix A' p 285 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  
[21] _Engwar_  
    Mortal men (Q) - lit. '(the) Sickly'  
  
[22] "_Mitharas! Man doltha le si?_"  
    "Mitharas! What brings you here?"  
  
[23] _Emyn-nu-Fuin_  
    lit. 'Mountains under Night', the Sindarin name of the Mountains of Mirkwood and latter-day name of the Emyn Duir. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields' p 293 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  
[24] 'For not all of the dead obeyed the call of Mandos'  
    In _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar', Tolkien supposed that some spirits would refuse to leave ME, and suggests that some later served Sauron; the spirits I have conjured here, I think, serve no one. (ref. p 223 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  
[25] _hroar_  
    Bodies (Q)  
  
[26] "_Araseg, gwanuren melethen_"  
    "Little deer, my kinsman, my love."  
  
  



	8. The Gift

**Author's Notes:** 12/03/02 - Minor changes to correct a typo and a small inconsistency. At last, the end of this very long history. The revision of Rîn is next, and I expect to make a few corrections to this story, as well. I have briefly introduced some Tatyarin Avari - their names were composed with some phonological continuity in mind, but have no relation to any particular language and are only meant to sound different from the names of the Silvan and Sindarin characters. Language was the chief means by which Tolkien demonstrated cultural difference in his work; it has been said that he invented an entire mythology to indulge his love of making new languages. To the Great One, language was the primary means of understanding a people, and my own experience some twenty years ago as an exchange student in France confirms this. Thus, for the introduction of Legolas' mother, whom Tolkien probably envisioned as a Wood Elf, I've attempted a bit of derivation from the Nandorin language Tolkien invented. Please take it as nothing more than an effort to give the character a cultural background distinct from that of Thranduil - the corpus is very thin, and although I have tried hard to be faithful to what Tolkien did tell us about Nandorin, I am not a linguist and in many cases I have simply had to make assumptions for lack of data.  
  
I've gathered what little I've deduced of Nandorin into Appendix II. For those interested in the phonology, where the endnotes state '(see _lygn_)', an exposition of _lygn_ can be found in this Appendix.  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  


  
**The Gift**  


  
**1980 Third Age, Khazad-dûm**  
  
Dwarves milled about the great halls in anxious silence or whispered rumor. In their quarters, Roskva wailed and rent her beard, for her son had been among those lost in the Fourth Deep. Thráin's mother could do little to comfort her sister, and looked expectantly toward the door behind which her husband and his father had remained since early morn. Thráin caught himself wishing that Roskva would cease her wailing, and banished the thought, knowing it uncharitable. He too mourned his cousin, yet his taut nerves overwhelmed his sorrow. A terrible thing had come to pass; he knew no accident had killed the dwarves in the mithril lode. Restlessly he left their quarters, finding in the faces of his grandfather's people an expression alien to dwarves: fear. Uncharacteristic for such an industrious folk, all work had stopped; terror seeped from the great black walls of the underground city.  
  
At last, his father and grandfather came from their seclusion, and in the Second Hall, dwarves gathered to hear Durin VI speak. The reincarnation of Durin the Deathless, or so it was said, the dwarf had aged but slowly, and remained hale and hearty at 249. Yet now, Thráin saw many white hairs in his great auburn beard, and he wondered if such a thing could happen in just a few hours.  
  
"My people," the old King began, pausing a moment as the worried murmurs died down. "What some of you have heard is true. Deep in the heart of cold Barazinbar there lies a great evil, one that has already taken some of our bravest folk." He cast his hood over his head in respect, as did his listeners. "Nay - do not despair, my people," he added hastily as he looked over the crowd. "We will meet fire with steel, and this creature shall not have the great city of our ancestors. This evil shall soon meet my axe and know that Durin is here." A great cheer greeted his words, but Thráin's eyes met his father's; Náin, too, took small comfort in the King's bold words.  
  
**1982 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood**  
  
The ancient elf-lord stood motionless in the magnificent entrance hall, too moved by his memories to respond to the butler who waited patiently. No, this was not Menegroth, but Thranduil had built a fair homage to those great halls. For a moment he could almost hear the laughter of little Elwing. In the flickering light, the statue of Lúthien seemed to come to life, dancing as she had before lost to the Firstborn forever. He sighed, banishing his memories to that distant past. He hoped this King proved wiser than had the builder of Menegroth.  
  
Galion waited respectfully; an elf of Doriath himself, he knew what distracted the visitor. "_Aran Eryn Forodren_ awaits you, híren," he announced, when the elf-lord at length returned his attention to the present. (1)  
  
Thranduil received his visitor with poor grace. "What brings you hither, Celeborn?"  
  
"Concern for Lórinand. Why did you refuse them help when they were attacked?" He took a glass of wine from the tray the butler had left.  
  
Thranduil shook his head. "You tried this same ploy with my father, and I will answer as he did. I cannot put my own people in jeopardy for the sake of another land. The Galadhrim, I will welcome into my realm and my protection, but we are nearly at war already in our own lands." He scrutinized the label of the Dorwinion vintage, recalling the missive that had accompanied the latest shipment. "Nórui sends messages of unrest in the south. Lórinand is not the only concern. Since Rhovanion collapsed, we have no buffer to the east. My sister-daughter believes that Mordor is occupied again."  
  
"The Witch-king!" Celeborn spat. "We drove him from Eriador, but he had what he sought in the end - the North Kingdom is no more. He now turns his attention to Gondor. Will you maintain your neutrality as one enemy to the Dark Lord after another falls?"  
  
"Neutrality! You forget that we fought the shadow arising when none dared to name its source. How came the dwarves to lose _Hadhodrond_, putting Lórinand in such peril?" Thranduil was frankly curious, for this Mitharas had failed to discover, despite his well-connected network. The dwarves themselves - those who had escaped - had come to the Iron Hills, but remained secretive as to the source of their ruin. (2)  
  
"None can say, nor can any guess how Lórinand came to be so suddenly overwhelmed that Amroth fled. He fought bravely in the war against the Witch-king; it was not like him to desert his folk."  
  
"Yet he has done so, and left no heir. With a stronghold such as Hadhodrond from which the orcs might launch attacks, I cannot see how Lórinand can survive." Thranduil truly regretted this, yet he could not send a sizeable contingent to Lórinand without perilous loss to the security of his own realm. "Even the dwarves of Iron Hills do not speak of retaking Hadhodrond."  
  
"Indeed, Hadhodrond, that your Wood folk have called _Morag_ in jest has become so. Nonetheless, we cannot also abandon Lórinand to orcs." (3)  
  
Thranduil could no longer check his temper. "You judge us without knowledge of what you speak, for you have lived under the protection of the Noldor. We fought the Enemy when your Gelydh friends were his unknowing allies. We fought him when they thought he had been defeated forever. Do not tell those who are bailing water that the boat is sinking! We are stretched thin already to stay the evil at our borders. I am stretched thin," he added, an unexpected admission. "We cannot afford a war now."  
  
Celeborn studied his kinsman as he sipped his wine. As an elf of the Elder Days, Thranduil had the ancient strength of their race and of their bloodline. Celeborn had felt this when he entered the realm, that the power of its lord as much as the valiance of his people drove out the darkness of the forest. The King did look weary. "Yet war you may have if the Vale is lost. If you allow orcs to have Lórinand, they will soon have the Vale from Parth Celebrant to the Iron Hills, and you will find yourselves cut off from the west," he answered calmly.  
  
The King resisted the urge to tear out his hair out in frustration. Briefly, he considered doing the same to the other elf. The image of Celeborn without his silver tresses so pleased the King that the ancient elf-lord escaped the throttling he so richly deserved. "I know this, Celeborn," he conceded. "Yet, for all you urge my involvement, you say little of what you and your Noldorin friends will do."  
  
"I will explain this, if you will have patience," Celeborn smoothly turned the conversation to his real purpose. "Galadriel has the light of the Calaquendi, and she has other resources at hand, such as you do not have."  
  
Thranduil suppressed a groan, knowing that he had walked neatly into Celeborn's trap. His father, for all his faults, had been intrinsically honest, and thence came his quarrels with his kinsman. He did not have Celeborn's talent for intrigue and manipulation. He realized too late that he should have left this matter to his son; the halls of Imladris had taught his son to recognize and outmaneuver such wiles. "And what, may I ask, are these resources?" Thranduil stared hard at the other elf.  
  
"You may not ask. But they may perhaps save Lórinand."  
  
Thranduil sipped his wine, uneasy with Celeborn's words. He thought he knew what the ancient elf refused to name. "And the cost of these resources? Perhaps they will put all of our people in greater peril."  
  
"That we must chance."  
  
The blond elf's mind moved quickly. Did Celeborn test him - did he bluff? Innolas believed that Elrond had already put Vilya to use, but Imladris did not lay a day's hard ride from Dol Guldur. Would Galadriel really chance the use of Nenya, with Sauron awakening, and so near to Lórinand?  
  
'The folly of the Noldor - they make the same mistakes in each Age, yet expect different results,' he thought. He did not like the thought of Celeborn and Galadriel permanently ensconced in Lórinand, whatever their reason. Galadriel would at last have her realm to rule. If she could truly restore Lórinand to its former beauty, she would earn the love of even the Silvan folk.  
  
"Galadriel has little understanding of the Galadhrim. The Noldor bend the gifts of Arda to their will, and are aghast at the results. They cannot tolerate the change that the passage of time brings, and will never understand the Wood folk, for the Tawarwaith do not fear change, but welcome it. To them, it brings renewal." His eye caught a small, rather awkward carving of a wren that sat patiently watching them.  
  
"The wren is favored by the Elves of the Wood, for its beautiful and cheerful song and its ability to nest anywhere," his mother had once told him. The Noldor, he thought, resembled more the eagles - beautiful, brave, and stubborn about their habitat.  
  
Celeborn lowered his head slightly. "Do not be too hard on Galadriel," he pleaded, his voice softening. "Change her people may fear, but she has changed nonetheless. Remember that she puts herself at greatest risk. She does not take this upon herself lightly. Few are the foes of Sauron more passionate than my wife.  
  
"In any event, Amroth is gone, and you cannot hold Lórinand," he continued briskly. "We have assumed guardianship of the land, that it may not be deserted."  
  
Thranduil nodded, inwardly cursing himself. The baiting of his kinsman had led him to accept what was already decided. Still, he saw Celeborn's reasoning, if he did not approve of his methods. The decision to withhold his help from the land he had made uneasily; he had felt as though he were caught between two choices, both unsatisfactory. He let out a heavy sigh as he went to find his son and sister-son, that they would know of the latest developments. Terrible things loomed ahead, he felt it in his bones, and already he felt pressed. Never had his kingship felt so heavy.  


  
**~~~**  


  
The Balrog brooded in his deep lair, perceiving the barrier that now stood against him in the elf-lands. In his most potent form, he was a thing of awe to behold. Yet this form quickly drained his power; Morgoth had used his kind wisely - sparingly - in great battles. Even without his great wreath of flames, the unlight of his being held terror, and having easily overcome Durin, the Balrog roamed the dark mines in this form. Dwarves proved more stubborn than elves; they would not relinquish their ancient home, despite their fear. Seething with frustration, he sensed his time of rest growing nigh, and so came against Náin in a great storm of fire. The dwarf-king perished with his hardiest warriors, and those who survived fled the mines, but the Balrog had wasted his powers. The elf-lands to the east must wait. Orcs soon took the place of dwarves, plundering the great underground mansion. The Balrog hardly heeded them, for he had retreated into the deeps - the few orcs who dared to disturb him soon regretted it. From such wretched creatures, he gathered strength, waiting, watching. (4)  
  
**2020 Third Age**  
  
Duration proved the hazard of archery competitions in Mirkwood. Such an event might last days - if the King would allow it. He took pride in his warriors' skill, and pride in the Cúcherdir, who had trained every archer in the kingdom, from the outlying villages to his own sister-son. Yet so rarely did Brónalm's former students miss their mark that elimination of a single contestant would often outlast the light of Anor.  
  
Such competitions afforded Thranduil a rare luxury - a chance to observe his people. One of the archers he knew well - Caranduir was a guard at the caverns, young, only a few centuries old, but Mitharas thought highly of him. Two others were not unfamiliar - they came from the village near the caverns, and he met them occasionally on their patrols when he went out riding. The last two he did not know.  
  
"Tórasin and Norarna are from the outlying villages; they come rarely to Forod'lad," Mitharas explained. (5)  
  
The King nodded. No doubt the winner's spoils - a fine stallion of his own stables - had enticed them to test their skill. His eye settled on the elf-maid, as his appreciation for comely maids had hardly waned since his younger days. The archer's hair, captured by a carved wooden clasp, had a coppery shine to its dark length, an unusual color among the Avari of his realm. She had small, narrow features, somewhat Noldorin in their grace - again, strange to his people, but not, Thranduil decided, with unpleasant effect. Her warrior life made her a bit lean; he preferred maids a bit rounder of cheek and bosom. Still, he found his attention returning to her as the competition wore through the afternoon.  
  
At last, there remained but two: the elf-maid and young Caranduir. Tórasin stepped up and drew back her bow. Without hesitation, she let fly her arrow - for in her remote village, a moment of hesitation might be one's last - and missed the target by the slimmest of margins.  
  
The guard now took his turn, taking more time to be sure of his aim. If he missed, they would continue on. If his arrow flew true, the contest would be over. He did not miss, to the relief of many hungry spectators, ready to get on with the feasting. As the eliminated contestants had done before her, Tórasin presented herself to the King, a bit annoyed with herself. Her folk had lost their breeding stud to wargs last summer, and she had hoped to remedy this loss. She tried to hide her disappointment as she bowed before the King.  
  
Tórasin knew him well by sight, though he but rarely passed through her village, for she had not forgotten his ceaseless walks through the camps in Mordor, as Silvan hearts flagged under the starless night, far from living things. He brought hope that seemed to have perished with their beloved _Gran_ Oropher. No longer soiled by the unwholesome grime of Sauron's fortress, the King looked much different in his green and gold ceremonial robes. He had inherited the beauty of his mother and the height of his father, and one might rightfully accuse him of harboring some vanity in the golden hair that flowed unrestrained under his crown of spring flowers and green leaves. Yet it was not his fair face that inspired the awe of the elf-maid. A certain air there was about him, one that recalled the words of Tórasin's great-grandmother. No more than a child then, she had come to the King's vale in the Emyn Duir with Phingés. The matriarch pointed to the King as he wandered among his people at the Midsummer feast, and spoke of days more ancient than Oropher, more ancient than Phingés herself or even the great bow-master. (6)  
  
"To the West went _Tinweg_, _Golphinweg_ and _Inweg_. There, they saw the Two Trees and came back changed - so said my grandmother. You have heard how the eyes of the Exiles were like flames, and so too were the eyes of the three. _El-barda_ gave to them a special gift and a special burden: of the great fathers and their kin should come the Kings of the Elves. And is our Gran Oropher not the grandson of Tinweg's brother?" (7, 8)  
  
Oropher's son, Tórasin saw, had inherited more than his appearance from his noble parents. He had the bearing of one who is born to govern and rule; he wore the mantle of a sovereign as though it were a casual cloak thrown about his shoulders, as much a part of him as his glowing tresses. Tórasin had a sudden urge to touch the King's hair, to feel the heavy silk of his Vanyarin ancestor in her hand. She nearly giggled as she imagined the shock this impertinence would provoke, and only with effort did she keep her face in an appropriately respectful expression.  
  
Thranduil did not miss the brief curve of her lips as Tórasin struggled to maintain her composure. Indeed, the elf-maid was quite attractive. And a fine shot with her bow, even if she had been bested at the end. "It is a shame that we must distinguish between two archers so fine! I suspect that many a warg and orc have come to grief by your quick bow," he said now.  
  
"Too many, _Granna_," she answered soberly, using the honorific of her native tongue. "Would that times were better, but as they are not, it is my honor to serve you as I can." (9)  
  
"To the valor of our border guards we are all indebted. Do not think you have gone unnoticed," he added, his pale grey eyes holding hers for a long moment.  
  
Tórasin blinked. A confession beyond words she saw in his eyes, and knew that quite without her conscious will, her own eyes had responded. Desire may disguise itself, but the naked fëa cannot lie. It cannot deny its recognition of what mortals call a 'soul mate' (a whimsy perhaps inspired by the Firstborn, as only the immortal fëar of elves can truly mate one to another). Though the hroar be sundered, by denial of will or mischance, the fëa remains undaunted, moving the heart relentlessly to seek that which will complete its _lindalë_. (10)  
  
Thranduil had seen the land of his birth sink beneath the sea; had seen Amar made round; had seen great kings fall, leaving no heirs or kingdom to inherit. Yet for all he had seen, Thranduil remained an innocent in matters of the heart. As if awakening from a long sleep, feelings strange to him stirred - not yet did he know love, but now its cousin, enchantment, had taken hold of his heart. A daughter of the forest, he realized, the elf-maid must lack the refined manner of his late wife, sister-daughter to Círdan. Still, he sensed nobility in her, a spirit in harmony with her surroundings and with the Valar who most loved the Third Clan. Moreover, Tórasin had in common with Berinaeth a trait he had greatly admired in the lady: she nourished a solitary flame, quite unneedful of the fuel of other souls about her. Thranduil knew that he had not this gift - his own fire grew dim and cold without the comfort of those he loved. (11)  
  
The morning sun threw its golden light across the path, heedless of the somber turn of his mood. As he and Mitharas rode under the beeches, he thought sorrowfully of all those lost to him, his passionate and quirky elder son the most grievous loss of all. He murmured to his horse, who had taken advantage of his rider's distraction to graze.  
  
Mitharas turned back, realizing that the King had stopped. "You are preoccupied this morning," he said, looking curiously at Thranduil.  
  
They rode on, the King marveling at the lush green of the midsummer forest even as his thoughts were troubled. "My mind had turned to my sons," Thranduil said at last, his sorrowful expression telling the younger elf that he spoke chiefly of his dead son. "We gave up much in the war, and now find ourselves worse off."  
  
"Not a day do I forget this," Mitharas answered grimly.  
  
"That elf-maid spoke truly - these are evil times, and I see no end to it."  
  
Mitharas glanced quickly at his mother's brother. 'Let Innolas admit his error,' he thought with a smile.  
  
"What amuses you so?" Thranduil asked, his mood lightening as his thoughts returned to the maid.  
  
"Nothing. It is a pity," Mitharas began innocently, "that the maid was bested. Dunnadór lost its breeding stud last year, and the villagers had need of that stallion."  
  
Thranduil said nothing to this, but upon return to the stables, the King lingered by the field in which the yearlings were grazing.  
  
"Do not be surprised, cousin, if that elf-maid's village does not have a stallion by _iavas_," Mitharas concluded later. (12)  
  
Innolas laughed, looking up from the books spread before him. "My father has a generous nature, and he would not see elves who have served him so well in need. I shall be more convinced should he accompany the gift himself."  


  
**~~~**  


  
Dunnadór often played host to unexpected visitors, but rarely welcomed them, for such visitors consisted largely of orcs and other unwholesome things. The unlooked for arrival of the King, however, the villagers greeted joyfully. Such an occasion demanded a feast and merrymaking - joys too rare in their hard life on the border of Northern Mirkwood.  
  
Tórasin alone was unmoved. She waited patiently as the King discussed matters of business with her grandfather, the Master of Dunnadór. "I would have a word with you, 'ere the feasting begins, Granna," she spoke up as they at last came from her grandfather's hut. Thranduil looked far less daunting today; in place of the robes he had worn at the _Mereth Perethuil_, he had clothed himself in the dark green tunic and leggings his people wore in summer. Dunnadór was a day's travel from the King's caverns and Thranduil knew that here, on the edge of his realm, he and his company might need to defend themselves. 'He is just an elf, after all,' Tórasin realized. (13)  
  
"My lady, I am sorry if I have offended you," Thranduil said earnestly, responding to the frown creasing her brow.  
  
"I did not win the contest, therefore I did not earn the prize. I have no need for your pity," Tórasin answered, her voice cutting as deeply as the pierce of her gaze.  
  
"Look upon it not as pity but as a token of my esteem." He had not expected his gift to so vex the elf-maid, and though his expression did not change, his eyes searched hers in confusion.  
  
"To be paid for how? If you think me to be some maid of Forod'lad, then you are mistaken, lord," she retorted. What had begun as a matter of pride had become one of honor. She was now truly angry.  
  
Rarely will an elf's poise abandon him. More rarely still will such poise desert a king. Yet Thranduil fumbled, wondering if a clumsy mortal had taken possession of his suddenly ineloquent tongue. "My lady, not the furthest thing," he stammered. "Nothing could be so far from my mind."  
  
Tórasin, her arms crossed and her brow still tight and severe, had to admit to herself that the elf underneath the royal trappings had a rather endearing innocence. Nonetheless, her tone remained cool. "I will accept your gift, on behalf of my village, for we have much need of it. But you may keep your esteem. I am not inclined to be called a mistress when I have henceforth held the title of warrior."  
  
"But _Dîs-e-guren_, would that title suit you?" Thranduil decided that his sanity had fled with his poise. A surge of unreasonable joy had taken hold in their absence, and he studied the elf-maid as if with new eyes, understanding now the restlessness that had haunted him since mid-spring. He heard her protests, but felt as though the words missed their weight and true meaning. (14)  
  
Tórasin was shocked. "My lord, you do not know me." She wondered briefly if the King trifled with her, or made sport of her. She considered him for a moment, and then laughed. The golden elf had no guile or malice in him; too easily, she read his heart.  
  
"Our kindred errs but rarely in matters of love. Come," he added, holding out his hand to take hers. "The Master summons us to the feast, and I would have a dinner companion. Let us have wine and talk and then you may say if I know you or not."  
  
Tórasin shook her head, charmed by the King's impetuous behavior. Perhaps, she admitted, he even moved her guarded heart. Still, she remained wary. Thranduil had been a good King, yet she wondered if he could truly understand the wild Silvan spirit that moved her people. 'Ai, wine and talk hardly make a betrothal!' What harm could come of humoring the King?  
  
In a nearby tree, Phingés bowed her head in acceptance as the two elves walked together toward the village green. The tree hummed sorrowfully, sensing her sadness. The visions her scrying evoked rarely erred; this match would bring her great-granddaughter to a bitter end. 'Why must it be Tórasin, _Abanna_?' she questioned. The elf-maid, of all her many descendants, most resembled her in temperament, and was held most dear by the ancient matriarch. Yet she would not interfere with the design of the Giver of Fruits. Had not she favored Phingés when her own folk had scorned her? At best, they had called her a dreamer; those less kind had named her a Sorceress, and feared her. Yavanna had led her to these woods, to the Nelyar. With the favor of a Valië came sacrifice. (15)  
  
**100 First Age, Amon Lanc**  
  
From the ramparts of the citadel, Angatëor gazed in wonder and fear at the peaks of Hithaeglir, their heights shrouded, as their name indicated, in misty clouds. He turned as a voice interrupted his thoughts and saw the tall leader of the elves of Eryn Galen.  
  
"You mean to press forward," Lenwë guessed.  
  
"Ah, you think me as foolish as do your people, _Denweg_. But I have faith in your _Cogatora_." Brónalm assured him that across the mountains, beyond a great forest and the strange but friendly tree shepherds, over blue hills far to the west, Angatëor and his folk would find others of their kind. (16, 17)  
  
Lenwë smiled affectionately. "Little does Brónalm fear, and he has traveled much, as few of my people dare to do. Yet he has always returned to me, and assures me those who followed _Denthar_ my son live now under the protection of Tinweg." (18)  
  
The ancient elf-lord had welcomed Angatëor's company, though they were of different clans, for they were all of the star-people. The newcomers numbered among the people of Morwë, the Tatyarin Elf who refused to leave Cuiviénen with Finwë. Though they lacked the training Aulë had given to the Noldor, Morwë's people had become great craftsmen and smiths, for their innate skill came not from any Vala but from the blood of their clan.  
  
Their hosts at Amon Lanc were strange to them, for the Tatyar knew little of wood lore, and in the millennia since their separation the speech of the Wood folk had developed many new sounds. Those left behind had also made new words, for all elves, from Aman to the uttermost East, shared a love for the making of language. Still, the dialects of both peoples remained near enough to the ancient Eldarin tongue that the differences did not greatly hamper converse between them.  
  
Angatëor had stumbled upon Lenwë's people with relief, for in the lands to the east they had found no such haven of strength and safety. His folk mourned the desertion of their ancient birth-waters, but knew their leader had spoken rightly when he told Morwë that they must go or starve. The devices of the Enemy had shrunk the great Sea of Helcar, and the Avari of both clans found the woods as perilous as in the days before the Great March, before the Valar destroyed Utumno. Many years had passed since Nurwë, leader of the Nelyarin Avari, had led her clan south, for with more foresight than Morwë, she knew Cuiviénen could no longer sustain the elves. (19)  
  
What became of this folk none among the Eldar or Tawarwaith can tell, but Angatëor and his followers would find their way to Menegroth. Thingol, seeing their great skill, grudgingly permitted them to work with the dwarves in the smithies, though they were not of his ancient clan. One of these elves would bind himself to Thingol's sister-daughter, despite the objections of that haughty king. Of this elf's son, Eöl, and all the sorrows that followed, the tale is well known. The story of Angatëor's sister, however, no loremaster of the Eldar preserves, yet the elves of the wood remember it, for she remained with the people of Lenwë. (20)  
  
Pingasë had the shining copper hair that so often signified great skill of hand, and Angatëor had such skill, though his locks were as coal. His sister, however, took after their Nelyarin grandmother. Rather shamefully unskilled in crafts, she spoke to the birds and trees, her head in the clouds and her mind unfocused, or so the people of Morwë believed. Thus her betrothal to one of the _Penni_, as they called themselves, came as small surprise to her brother. He hoped that among Lenwë's folk, Pingasë would find the sense of belonging that had eluded her since the Nelyar left Cuiviénen. (21)  
  
Indeed Yavanna herself, taking pity on the outcast, had led Angatëor to this place, that the talents Eru had given his sister might help to heal the things Yavanna had made. Phingés, as the Silvan folk called her, came to be reckoned as a wise mistress of magical lore. What the Tatyar had found strange in their kinswoman, the Nelyar reckoned a gift, for they cherished their symbiosis with living things. Thus Phingés and all her descendants had been dedicated to the Valië, serving her and their kings as guardians of the forest.  


  
**~~~**  


  
With a purpose Phingés could not discern, Yavanna had not made lightly the choice of Tórasin as her instrument. The Valië had great trust in the bloodline of Phingés. Not a burden, but an honor did she bestow upon the faithful matriarch and her most beloved descendant.  
  
**2070 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood**  
  
An oil lamp burned brightly as Thranduil examined an array of gleaming gems. Thráin's people at Erebor had not the resources their fathers found in Moria, but the dwarves, Thranduil reluctantly admitted, had not lost their skills with their fortune. He had a mithril brooch, acquired when that valuable silver could be bought at a price, and intended to have it made into a chain for the necklace, but this he would not send to Erebor - his own smiths would do this work. The metal was now too precious to risk such a journey.  
  
The gems were yet uncut, but the dwarves had sent some of their finest, polished to display their quality. The King, though fondest of emeralds, found his eyes unable to escape the lure of another stone. Held to the light, the fire opal gleamed with the red flames of its name - a beautiful stone, worthy, Thranduil thought, of his beautiful lover. Men believed that the opal had come of an early experiment of Fëanor, en route to the making of the Silmarilli, but elves knew better. The hand of Aulë had made these gems, and the fire opal had, in any case, been known to dwarves and elves long before the return of the Noldor. The truth of its origins did not diminish the gem's magic. Its luster held passion and subtlety, a fine mix, Thranduil thought, for Tórasin's vitality and her Silvan harmony.  
  
Lost in such thoughts, a knock at the door startled him.  
  
"It is not usual for you to close your door when you are alone," Innolas observed, lowering himself into a delicately carved chair. "Would your want of privacy be inspired by a certain package delivered by a rather greedy dwarf?" he asked, smiling.  
  
"Perhaps," Thranduil smiled.  
  
"And perhaps by a certain elf-maid?" Innolas leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
The son laughed. "Adar, you are a poor keeper of secrets. The light in your eyes tells me it is a gift for Tórasin that you are considering."  
  
"Well, I have been found out. It is indeed a gift."  
  
"She makes you young again - it is good to see you smile." Innolas shifted uncomfortably, unhappy with his errand. "You have found in her what you did not have with my mother," he began.  
  
Thranduil frowned. "I was content with your mother, do not think that I was not. But we shared an understanding. She would not oppose this."  
  
"No," Innolas agreed. "She loved you within a certain definition of love, as you loved her. She would not wish unhappiness on you. As you are now sundered by her death, she could not deny you, who are yet living, love's comfort.  
  
"But the Valar can, and will, Adar," he finished gently. "You know the Laws of the Eldar. You cannot think to defy them."  
  
The Laws, so easily made when death among the Eldar was rare, had come to Beleriand by Melian's guidance before the unchaining of Melkor. They had remained mostly intact through the Middle Years in Eriador by the authority of the High King of the Noldor. Beyond Hithaeglir, however, the Avari knew nothing of the Statute of Finwë and Míriel. Death was no stranger to Lenwë's folk, and once widowed, an elf might seek companionship and children with a second spouse. Lenwë himself had taken such a lover, and his heir Oropher hesitated to interfere with the customs of his people. Thus the practice continued, despite the pious King's misgivings.  
  
After the war in Mordor, many elves found themselves widowed, and the Laws at last began to break down among the Eldar, as the widowed pledged their love to one another. The Valar could not coerce the Firstborn into obedience, only advise them of what doom awaited those who strayed. Námo, however, after long consideration, could name only one doom - that such pledges must naturally end with the departure of one or both widows by death or the Straight Path. Marriage existed only between the first spouses. The second marriage did not defy the law because it did not, by Námo's definition, qualify as a marriage. (22)  
  
All of this Innolas knew. His widowed father might seek companionship - with another widow. Therein lay the problem. As a maid, Tórasin was yet free to bind herself, but Thranduil was not. Should they bind themselves by oath, the laws of the Eldar must be broken.  
  
Thranduil looked at his son. "I do not take the Laws lightly. We cannot be bound after the manner of our people, this I know."  
  
"You cannot be bound. She is yet a maid."  
  
His father wore a patient expression. "Then I still cannot bind myself to her. I miss your meaning."  
  
"There can be no child of her," Innolas said gently.  
  
Now Thranduil understood. The begetting of a child would bind his love to him as surely as his sister had been thus bound to her lover. If Tórasin were also a widow, and not free to bind herself, a child between them would pose no such risk. Yet she was, as Innolas pointed out, a maid, and therefore free. No elf could have two wives, yet both Berinaeth and Tórasin would thus be bound to him.  
  
With the arrogant folly of one accustomed to making law, Thranduil thought this condition of childlessness missed Ilúvatar's intent. "I cannot believe the Valar would permit union between the Eldar and yet exclude the chance to bear progeny of that union," Thranduil told his son.  
  
Innolas sighed. His father's argument had some merit, but his vast understanding of the lore of his people lay against such an interpretation. As it turned out, both elves were quite mistaken.  
  
**436 First Age, Doriath**  
  
The little elf watched anxiously as his mother unwrapped the gift he had made for her. "Does it please you?" he burst out, unable to control his excitement.  
  
Anórieth smiled at her son, who had not yet acquired the stillness and patience of a mature elf. "Let me unwrap it first, Thranduil!" she chided. She untied the last bow and the wrapping fell open to reveal a small, carved wren.  
  
"It is not so good as Stamgól would make, I know," Thranduil added. He had gone to the _Laegel _for help in selecting and carving the wood. Stamgól's little animals were prized in Doriath, but the elf made them only for pleasure. Like all of Oropher's people, he dearly loved the Lady of their Lord, and Anórieth had a small menagerie of the exquisitely lifelike woodcarvings. (23)  
  
"No, it is better, for your hands made it," Anórieth told her son. "The worth of a gift is not in its value but in the sentiment of its giver." The wren, her favorite creature, was perhaps somewhat crudely rendered, but the mother's eyes saw no such flaws. She gathered the young elf into her lap. "Pride can never cast its shadow upon what we make for the pleasure of others, for only when we claim ownership of what we have no right to hold can such things be tainted by our greed.  
  
"Take the example of the little wren. She loves most to sing, and to hear her merry chirp we elves make little houses for her nest," Anórieth explained. "But we do not keep her in a cage, for she would be miserable, and would sing no more. She is meant to be free."  


  
**~~~**  


  
Thranduil smiled, recalling his mother's words. She had loved the simple life of the _Laegrim_, perhaps because it contrasted so strongly with the strivings of her grandfather's unhappy clan. The Noldor could not find happiness in the present - in the Elder Days, they thought ever of the future and now, as they faded, they regretted the past. (24)  
  
As for himself, he had the simple joy of nearness to the one who held his heart, and he refused to think now that she must leave him before Anor rose high in the sky. They sat by the riverbank, Tórasin singing to the water. She rested her head against his shoulder, and Thranduil felt the vibrations of her voice where his sensitive ear touched the top of her head. He decided that he had best give his love her gift before the base instinct of lust took the lead.  
  
Tórasin drew the necklace from its velvet purse and let out her breath slowly. Here in the sunlight it gleamed with its liquid fire, a beautiful piece of which she hardly felt worthy. Reluctantly, she replaced it in its purse and looked away, not wishing to see the hurt in her lover's eyes. "I cannot accept this," she said quietly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Tórasin winced at the raw emotion in Thranduil's voice. She forced herself to look at the crestfallen King. "If I take it, it would be a promise of more than I am willing to give. Do not mistake me," she added hastily. "My heart would accept the necklace and its giver without reservation. But better counsel warns me against this.  
  
"I belong in my village, not a king's palace," she continued, brushing her hand nervously through the strands of hair that had escaped their clip. She turned away, unable to hold his eyes longer. "I am sorry - I cannot give you more than I do." She felt as torn as she had when Thranduil had come to Dunnadór and charmed her into his life. 'He does not know what he asks of me!' she thought, anguished.  
  
"You read too much into my gift," Thranduil interrupted her thoughts. "It is freely given, without expectation of return." He placed a hand on her cheek. "I cannot deny that my heart's desire is to have you at my side when I wake, to hear your voice sing to the trees when I walk and watch you fall into your dreamscapes when I retire. Yet I would not make you a prisoner of my affection.  
  
"Go home to your village," he concluded, with a regretful smile. "But take my gift, that it may remind you that you have taken my heart also, and it will not find rest until you return to me."  
  
**2105 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood**  
  
His lover raised herself on one elbow, the fire opal accentuating her white skin and the copper light in her hair. Far away in the caverns, Thranduil could hear stirrings as the cook began to prepare for the day. "Will you not stay?" he asked, running his fingers through the silky hair.  
  
"You have had me all night. Now I must greet the trees, lest they feel slighted."  
  
"You greeted them yesterday," Thranduil protested, smiling.  
  
"They have a short memory," Tórasin explained, but of course this was not so. Though younger than the elves, they shared the memories of trees long gone, memories of a time before even the Firstborn had awakened. From such a source Tórasin's people drew their wisdom, in their own way as learned as the loremasters of the Eldar.  
  
The elf-maid finally untangled herself from the covers. Her heart and her King's persistence had persuaded her to live in Forod'lad, but her sense of duty would not desert her vocation. Mitharas had found occupation for her among the guards who watched over the river - work less dangerous, but also less peaceful than the hours of solitude she had enjoyed as a border guard.  
  
Thranduil knew this well, and watched the warrior's lean limbs move gracefully toward the dressing room, half-jealous of the task that must take Tórasin from his side and half-moved by the love that had steadily grown for this strong and passionate elf. He could not complain. He knew the sacrifice she had made for him.  
  
Thranduil, Tórasin worried as she made her way to the river, wished to formalize their bond. The King, she had discovered, had flaws and failings and worries just as any of his subjects, and she had come to love the elf within the regal trappings. Their fëar danced with joy, whether the two elves walked in the woods or joined their bodies. In time, she had come to miss her love more than she missed her village when sundered from one or the other, and thus did she now share a hut in Forod'lad with her old teacher. Yet, much more must she give up should she accept his yet untendered proposal.  
  
The elf she had come to relieve told her briefly of an uneventful night, and Tórasin settled onto the talan with a cheerful greeting to the tree in which it rested. In lieu of a greeting the tree's branches whispered in the wind, their song soothing the tension the tree sensed in the elf. Tórasin sighed - the tension came not from her dilemma, but of a night spent underground, no matter, she recalled with a smile, how pleasurable it had been.  
  
Tórasin could not fail to appreciate the beauty of Thranduil's caverns, and understood his great pride in the place that he could at last call home. The dwarves had turned the caves into halls befitting a King, with perhaps more understanding of their customers than the elves might have expected. The stunted craftsfolk had etched various designs, from abstract scrolls to symbols of the Valar, into the highly polished stone floors, and the ceiling of the King's hall bore carvings representing the elenath. The grand entrance hall still held visitors in thrall; even the Wood folk, not disposed to love anything made of stone, spoke reverently of the hall's beauty. Nothing had the dwarves overlooked, from floor to ceiling and every detail between, smoothing the limestone walls so that one could hardly tell this had once been a cave. Still, Tórasin knew. She felt the great weight of the stone above her as though it rested on her heart. She heard not the trees whispering in the night, the chattering of crickets or the call of the nightingale. Her spirit grew restless after a short time in the dark.  
  
Relieved in the afternoon by the next elf to sit watch, she went to the hut she shared nominally with Brónalm, though she spent little time within its walls. 'I might just as well live in the caverns,' she rationalized. She found the old bow-master sharpening arrows in the glow of the afternoon sun. In a few hours, after the song of twilight, they would go to the evening meal at the King's table. Brónalm had lived as a member of the royal family at Amon Lanc and in the Emyn Duir, but since the move to Northern Mirkwood, he had taken a hut by the river. Though he had assumed many customs and the speech of his King, he remained a Wood Elf at heart, and the caverns discomfited him.  
  
Of this he had warned Thranduil, for the King had confided his intention to ask the lady's hand in betrothal. "She is of the Wood folk, Aranen. We are not at ease underground."  
  
"She should have the same freedom to come and go as she does now," Thranduil had insisted, but this answer did not alleviate the ancient elf's worries. Yet, his heart warned him that the matter was quite out of his hands - or the King's hands. Like Phingés, he sensed greater forces at work here. 'What the _Bali_ have set in motion must be seen through to its end, bitter though that end may be for my King and his Lady,' he resigned himself. (25)  
  
Tórasin sat on the ground, watching the Cúcherdir at work. If she might reconcile herself to living in the caverns, other concerns she found less easy to quiet. She did not know how long her heart could deny the wish most dear to Thranduil's heart, yet it would change her forever.  
  
"I would be too diminished, if I had a child," she explained to Brónalm. She was as strong now as any male elf, but that would change with childbearing. Her days as a warrior must end with motherhood. (26)  
  
"Where one door closes, perhaps another may open, _herina_," the old bow-master counseled. "You are as fine an archer as I have seen in my time, and you will remain so." (27)  
  
Brónalm, she realized, did not truly understand her dilemma, how much of her very essence must be spent in the bearing of children. "Were I a teacher, perhaps it would not matter so. If I had the skill of scrying as my great-grandmother has, it would only grow more powerful. Yet I am a warrior - I do not yearn for battle, but if there is to be one, my place is at the King's side. I may still shoot with accuracy, but if we should again bring our host against Mordor - and that is not unlikely, it seems - I must remain behind, for lack of strength."  
  
"You would remain behind in any case," Brónalm pointed out. "The King would depend upon you to run his kingdom in his absence. Do not be too quick to dismiss such a role," he added, as she again protested. "Those who did not go with us to Mordor revere still the lady Berinaeth for her wise rule during the war. The Eldar may have forgotten her great act of courage, but the Bali know that she gave her life in defiance of the Enemy. Nor should any overlook the quick bow and tireless guard of Nórui."  
  
Tórasin lowered her head. "I did not mean to trivialize such service to our King. Yet so much I do not understand - I am a simple Wood Elf, I was not born to such lofty aspirations."  
  
The bow-master examined the brown feathers she had brought to him, courtesy of the King's cook. "These will make fine flights, and the pheasant a good meal, so that bird's sacrifice goes not unappreciated." He returned to the subject at hand. "It is no secret that our King intends to ask for your hand, or that he wishes for more children. Both would bring great happiness to him." He looked up, fixing the maid with a solemn look. "Do you love him as he loves you?"  
  
Tórasin knew her answer must confirm this, but her old teacher wished for a more thoughtful response. She sat silent for long minutes as she searched her heart. "I do. But love is not always enough," she reluctantly admitted. "One can be very much in love, yet very unhappy in situation."  
  
**2106 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood**  
  
The sheer cliff above the cavern doors rose quite high above the river, so that the ground above swelled to a great knoll over the entrance hall and King's hall. The knoll dropped sharply to flatter ground, and here were kept the royal gardens. The cook and the King's healer grew their herbs in these gardens and Innolas, with his mother's fondness for flowers, tended his roses and irises. Beyond the flowers and herbs rose the cornfields of the _Ivonwin_. Between the gardens and fields lay a small glade, a refreshing bit of forest in the middle of the cleared land. Elegant marble benches lined the paths and a stream coursed through the middle of the glade, nourishing the many wildflowers that grew under the trees. (28)  
  
These delicate flowers had captured the attention of Tórasin as she walked with the King on this bright morning. Their walk had become a lesson of sorts for Thranduil, who admittedly knew little of the Silvan tongue, as Tórasin told him the names of the flowers and trees in her language. "And this we call _oebana_," she told him, pointing to the lovely white flower. (29)  
  
"Ever-fair," Thranduil translated. "A fair name for the fair uilos. But tell me, my lady, can this flower bloom in caverns such as mine?"  
  
"The oebana must have light and stars and green things around it, else it withers."  
  
"And if one brings the flower into the light, can it tolerate the darkness for a time?" Thranduil looked intently at his companion, hardly breathing.  
  
"Ah, that, my lord, it may do, for it is a hardy flower." Dark grey eyes met pale ones. "But we speak not of a flower."  
  
"No, my lady, we do not."  
  
Tórasin clasped her hands behind her back in thought. She turned suddenly, her chin raised in determination. "This is much you ask of me."  
  
"I do not intend to keep you caged, if that is your fear."  
  
"That is not my worry. I come from a different people. We are not so alike as we should be." Tórasin fingered the opal that lay on her breast nervously. Never had the necklace felt so heavy.  
  
"Have I not tried to learn of your folk?"  
  
"You have. Yet we are ever different. You speak for our people. I speak to the trees."  
  
"Then that is good, for the trees are a part of your people, and I have not the right manner of speaking to them. At least, they do not answer me," Thranduil answered playfully. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Your doubts cannot withstand me, for I have more patience than your trees and have lived longer than any of them. I am quite content to continue in my plea until I have a wife who will bring life into my empty rooms."  
  
"I cannot be the wife you want. I would not ask you to give up your throne. It is what you are made to do, and to protect your people is what I am made to do." Tórasin frowned, her sense of the distance between them never more poignant.  
  
"Have I asked you to change that?" Thranduil was genuinely confused.  
  
"You do not think what this title of Dîs-e-guren must entail. I am a breadwinner, not a breadgiver. I am not the wife you need." Tórasin broke away from his grasp and leaned against a nearby tree for support. Her heart ached as she made her objections, and she felt her will ebbing away.  
  
"I married once already to the wife I needed. I do not regret that - it was right for me and for my father's people then. Now, I have the freedom to marry for love."  
  
"I cannot give you children - not now. Do not deny that your heart longs for this above all else."  
  
Thranduil could not. He realized that this concession he must make. Though he perhaps underestimated how her life must change as she assumed the role of his consort, he knew that she had come to the limit of what she could accept. Ask more, and he might lose her. "Then I must be patient. You have my word that we will not speak again of this matter until you choose to do so."  


  
**~~~**  


  
By the waning candlelight in Thranduil's chambers, Tórasin examined the silver ring that had somehow come to be placed on her finger. She was at a loss as to how her objections had melted away so easily. Love, she knew, partly explained it. She cast her eyes over the King, envying his easy dream-sleep. Her fëa burned to meld with his, though such mingling must be limited to Arda. Tórasin had never given much thought to the Laws of the Eldar. She thought of death strictly in terms of the world she knew. She had seen many warriors die, and she had seen many births. In children were the hopes of the dead reborn; even were she to die without descendants, she had bequeathed some of her spirit unto the many children and grandchildren of her siblings. Thus, it did not matter to her that they could not bind themselves before Eru, and so make a union not even death could cleave. They would have one another until one died, and her mind could not grasp a time beyond that, so alien was the Eldarin concept of death to her Silvan mind.  
  
This thought reminded her that she had but meagre understanding of her lover's culture. A simple elf, she spoke imperfect Sindarin and knew little of the history that had so affected this family's fortunes. Thranduil refused to see that this might come between them, and though she had his pledge that he would not press the issue, he clearly expected that she would give him a child. Too easily had he undone her defenses. Tórasin turned over restlessly, feeling that she was swept away by a tide that centered on her and yet over which she had little control.  
  
**2460 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood (Spring)**  
  
Tórasin watched anxiously over her great-grandmother's shoulder as Phingés sprinkled jasmine oil over the leaves, crouching near the ground to study them. At last, Phingés straightened up. "You will bear a son," she announced.  
  
A frown furrowed across the younger elf's forehead. "But how - I have taken the herbs faithfully."  
  
"Child, the power of such herbs rests in she who made them. If it be the will of Abanna that you have a child, then no herb can defy her." The wise old elf looked at her great-granddaughter sympathetically.  
  
Tórasin sighed. For many years they had known peace in Northern Mirkwood, but the Wood folk sensed a change in the air. Her heart's tumult warned against the bearing of children in such uncertain days. Indeed, she realized, there had been no births for some time. By custom, mothers would bring a new baby to the caverns, where the King would solemnly welcome the child into his realm, and write the baby's name in a great ledger kept in his Hall. At least two rounds of Anor had passed since the ledger had seen the last birth recorded.  
  
In spite of this, Yavanna had given her this child; in spite of Tórasin's still-deep ambivalence over the diminishing she already felt, Yavanna had given her this child. To lose such an essential part of her being grieved her, but in the glow of Thranduil's eyes she found some comfort, for what this child would cost her would ease the heart of the one she loved. The King, she knew, had lost many he loved - his mother at a young age, and so many in the war. He had come to accept these losses, but his eldest son's death, she knew, remained painful to him. More than anything in Eä, he wanted this child.  
  
The King's healer shared his joy that a new baby would come to the royal House for the first time in this Age. Brúniel had been healer, midwife and nursemaid to the House of Lasgalen since the Elder Days. Wife to Galion, she had escaped with him from Doriath, and after the sack of Arvernien, they had joined themselves to Oropher's people, for they would not live under the rule of the Golodh king on Balar. She had seen the births of Oropher's grandchildren and had cared for them in infancy, and she had followed her King to Mordor and eased him into death. The ancient Sinda had a stern disposition, well suited to care of willful Kings and their stubborn progeny, but Tórasin chafed under her watchful eye. If she had accepted her lot, she had not fully reconciled herself to it, and she found herself continually at odds with Brúniel, who in truth knew more than her charge of such matters.  
  
The paths around the caverns now disappeared under the orange, red and brown harbingers of _firith_. Though the trees had become sleepy, Tórasin had a favored talan in the beech trees over the river, from which she could observe the changes wrought by autumn. These moments were precious to her. Though she loved Thranduil and their marriage had been a happy one, she relied on this time among the trees to nourish her Silvan heart. She refused to let her condition interfere with her daily habit, and as she grew heavy with child, the King's healer worried for her safety. "Trees," the midwife clucked in disapproval, "are no place for a pregnant elf. (30)  
  
"Wood Elves do not fall out of trees," Tórasin laughed at her concerns.  
  
The _Mereth Iau-Grithol_ came, and ended with the traditional farewell to Yavanna, as her creations entered their winter sleep. All the Wood folk felt sadness come upon them as the trees turned bare and the grass brown, but Tórasin felt the winter more keenly than usual this year, for the longer nights meant more hours in the caverns; snow and cold must keep her indoors, though she would ordinarily have much to do. The fell creatures of the forest did not sleep in winter, and indeed, threatened the elves more than ever in their hunger. In Dunnadór, she imagined, her folk had become doubly vigilant, that here in the interior of the realm they might be reasonably safe. (31)  
  
Tórasin looked pale and tired to Brúniel, but the healer found nothing unnatural in this - the great amount of vitality elven women put into their babies - especially a first - often taxed their health. Ordinarily an expectant elf might pass the final weeks at rest. Until Tórasin came under her care, Brúniel had never had a _bess_ question this time of lying-in. Her lady overestimated her strength, Brúniel thought. The healer had conceded much for this strange elf, but in this matter she would not give way, and soon had the support of the nervous father behind her. Tórasin stubbornly resisted their efforts, escaping the midwife's watchful eye when she could by way of the hidden passage. Though Bilbo in later days found only two exits from the caverns, there existed, in fact, another. Of this only the King's family and his most trusted subjects knew; modeled after the hidden way from Amon Lanc, the passage would serve in the event of a siege. Tórasin soon found, to her despair, that her secret outings only proved the wisdom of Brúniel. Her body would no longer perform as she expected, and after a narrow encounter with a hungry wolf, she admitted defeat. She looked toward the final two months of her pregnancy with great unhappiness; already, the walls of the caverns seemed to close around her. (32, 33)  
  
Thranduil grew increasingly concerned for his lady as these days passed. Listless and seemingly preoccupied, Tórasin took little pleasure in all the King did to cheer her. Her hair grew lank and lost its healthy copper glow and her slate eyes did not smile, even when she coaxed that expression to her lips. Had Brónalm been there, he could have told Thranduil what ailed the lady, but in late winter he had left Northern Mirkwood on one of his periodic walkabouts, desiring to see Gondor, for an old friend resided in Belfalas.  
  
Brónalm might have told him that Tórasin did not dream, that her fëa, trapped by the thick stone walls, withered. He might have told his King that the caverns disturbed the natural rhythms of her mind and body, that the Wood folk lived so close to the stars and green things that their very being was attuned to them. But Brónalm was not there to warn Thranduil of these things, and languishing under this stress, the lady felt the first quickening of her labor - much too soon.  
  
Her handmaid sent for Brúniel at Tórasin's cry of surprised pain, and soon had the help of the healer in restraining the lady, who told them feverishly in her own tongue that she must leave. Brúniel understood none of this. She knew only that she must quiet her patient and do what she could to delay her labors.  
  
Brúniel's considerable skill prevailed. Gravely, she confronted her worried King. "Aranen, I cannot promise that my arts will stay delivery of the child, and it is still too early."  
  
Thranduil looked at her as she hesitated. "There is more," he guessed.  
  
Reluctantly, the midwife continued. "Her mind strays - she calls out, but I confess I do not know her language."  
  
Thranduil understood no better her ravings. The final weeks of her lying-in crept by, Brúniel's efforts delaying the delivery, but the midwife could do nothing for the lady's mind. Tórasin knew not her husband and would take no food. She called in the night for stars she could not see, falling into nightmare and visions of flame and unlight.  
  
**2460 Third Age, Northern Mirkwood (Late Winter)**  
  
Elven babies, it is said, at last leave the safety of the womb out of desire to see the stars. Though the Eldar had forgotten this, the Wood folk had not. Shortly before the baby's birth, the female kin of the mother would go into the woods to prepare a place. When the mother knew it was time, she would go with them to this place, so that the first thing her child should see would be the stars.  
  
Tórasin had not thought to tell her mate or her midwife of this; she did not know that the Sindarin custom differed. Yet on the night that she again felt the quickening of her womb, her muddled consciousness found its way to the hidden exit, for an instinct as old as Cuivienyarna led her to the forest. Neither she nor her child could be kept any longer from the stars.  
  
Some time after Tilion slipped away from sight, the mother delivered her son. Wrapping him in her cloak, she held the baby up. "_Ele!_" she whispered, in a tongue even more ancient than her own. "_Ele, ondona_. El-barda made these lights for the elves, and when you look upon them and call her name, she will always hear your cry and bring you her protection." Indeed, under the stars her mind had cleared, Varda's healing balm of light lifting the shroud over her thoughts. She knew she should take the baby home, but in her exhaustion, and yet unwilling to return to the dark caverns, she laid the baby beside her and passed into a deep slumber beyond the elven dream-sleep. (34, 35)  
  
The baby lay quiet, his eyes open and looking with wonder at the stars that had persuaded him to leave the safety of the womb. As dawn came, however, he knew hunger, and cold. His mother's cloak and her nearness had kept him warm through the final hours of the night, but now an icy frost glistened over the land, and no more warmth came from the elf beside him. Even his infant mind sensed that all was not right, and in reproach, that none tended to his needs, he raised his voice in the universal language of babies.  
  
Relief washed through Mitharas as his sharp ears caught the cry. Tracking a Wood Elf he had found near to impossible, and though they had neared the place where Tórasin had hidden herself, his party had backtracked many times as they lost the trail. Mitharas now followed the sound of his cousin's complaint, at last finding the little hollow in which he lay with his mother. The baby's wails attested to his health, but the elf beside the child left his mouth dry. The lady was still, her expression serene, as though she had been at peace when she drifted into deathly sleep.  
  
He took the baby and sheltered him under his cloak, to warm him, and for the moment his cousin was quieted. At his nod, the other elves of his party gathered the dead elf, and returned to the palace.  
  
**2460 Third Age, Halls of Mandos (Late Winter)**  
  
"I may choose, in time, to be rehoused in my body, or I may give up that choice, and remain in the Houses of the Dead. Yet by both choices do I lose. Should I remain in the care of Mandos, I will not know my son, when he should pass beyond the Shadowy Seas. Should I be rehoused, I must be sentenced to a life in Aman, and my husband, should he die, must therefore remain unhoused."  
  
"These are the choices given you, yes."  
  
"Yet a third choice I have, that you do not name. I can repudiate this summons, and remain in Arda with those I love."  
  
"You lack understanding."  
  
"I lack understanding? I made not such Laws that would sunder me from those I love until Eä should be remade."  
  
"Yet you shall be sundered the same, for the dead shall have no consort with the living. You shall grow weary of your state, and envious of those who live, and vulnerable to temptations of evil things that would use you as their instrument." (36)  
  
"I am the great-granddaughter of Phingés, whose descendants speak the language of the trees. The very essence of Abanna runs in our blood; to us she gave the charge to heal the hurts of her creations. That we should come under the spell of the Enemy is impossible - we can never but serve Abanna, in death as in life."  


  
**~~~**  


  
For two nights and two days, he stood over the grave of his beloved, the multitude of tasks that demanded his attention seeming to pale beside his grief. Thranduil had buried the many deaths of those he loved in his work, clinging to the impulse instilled from birth to put the welfare of his people above all else. Yet now, even this failed him. He had reached the limit of sorrow he could endure, and he felt lost.  
  
"I have given him miruvor, híren, but it only quiets him. It cannot replace a mother's milk." Brúniel's worry showed in her strained expression, and she looked expectantly at the King's second son.  
  
Innolas sighed. His father had not yet seen the child, but if Innolas did not intervene, the baby would soon follow his mother in death. He did not know where to turn. "Aiwendil," he said finally, grasping at hope. The Maia they saw but rarely these days - some at Imladris whispered that he had lost sight of his purpose, that his birds occupied his mind more than the charge of the Valar. Still, Innolas could think of no alternative. "Aiwendil will know what to do." Summoning his cousin, he bid Mitharas to make haste to bring the baby to the Maia, and then went to speak to his father.  
  
"Adar?"  
  
The King did not respond, standing still as he had since the grave had been made.  
  
"Adar, you cannot remain thus. Your people need you. They are fearful, they know of Tórasin's madness and fear that you suffer likewise, that a curse is upon you. They know I have sent messages far and wide for the Cúcherdir."  
  
"Then they speak truthfully, for a curse does indeed lay upon me. Brónalm cannot help her now. Perhaps her fate was beyond his help," Thranduil said at last.  
  
His father's words chilled him. Innolas truly began to wonder if his father's many tears had at last driven him to madness. "Speak not thus, Adar."  
  
"The stars," Thranduil said softly. "She asked for the stars, and by my own ignorance she remained in what must have been as a tomb to her."  
  
"You had no fault in it. Do not blame yourself for misunderstanding her." He took his father's arm. "Come away," Innolas pleaded. To his surprise, Thranduil allowed him to lead him away from the grave, docile in his son's lead. This perplexed and worried the younger elf all the more.  
  
A fortnight passed. Innolas struggled to soothe the worried populace and keep his father busy. Simple tasks brought the King out of his stupor, but his heart remained in his lady's grave.  
  
"Mitharas has returned, híren."  
  
Innolas rose from his desk. "At last!"  
  
Mitharas followed on the heels of Galion. "Well, I did not find Aiwendil at Rhosgobel. He had gone just the day before to a little village near the Gladden, whence a fever taken hold had summoned him. I saw no choice but to follow, though it was a longer ride than I wished. Yet the Lady must have heard my prayers, for just as I thought the little one must perish, we found succor in Folcagard." A woman who had lost her own baby to fever proved willing to nurse the tiny elf, even to return with Mitharas to Northern Mirkwood.  
  
Innolas considered this. "I had not thought of a mortal," he said doubtfully.  
  
"Aiwendil believes the child will thrive. He seems well enough now that he is fed." Mitharas threw himself into a sofa in his cousin's library. "Ai, it has been a long journey. I fear the forest grows more dark; the Silvan folk are uneasy."  
  
"It has been a long wait here, too," Innolas said quietly.  
  
"How fares your father?" Mitharas asked, sitting up.  
  
"Not well. Not worse, but not well." He stood, rubbing his temples. "I know not what to do."  
  
"Oh, I nearly forgot - our Brónalm had passed through Folcagard not four days before we came there. Aiwendil has sent Rovalthór, the eagle, to seek him."  
  
Brónalm's long sojourn had taken him to Belfalas, where he found not his friend, nor any elf, but heard the sad end of Amroth. As he passed north again, a foreboding took hold of his heart. Dol Guldur, he thought, was still unoccupied, but the air seemed on edge. Something would soon happen to jar the moderate peace they had enjoyed since the _ithron_ Mithrandir had forced Sauron from the ancient citadel. Brónalm had therefore gone north to the Beornings, knowing that among men, they possessed greater senses of the unseen, and they, too, told of foreboding and dread. There, Rovalthór found him, and Brónalm made haste to depart, greatly disturbed by Mitharas' message and its tidings. (37)  
  
He had left Northern Mirkwood before Tórasin had conceived - indeed, he would not have gone had he known of this. Nonetheless, he sensed still that he could not have changed the path of things. On his return, Innolas pressed him to speak to the King, but first, Brónalm had to know what purpose the lady's unhappy end had served. In his hut, he drew a circle and sat within its protection. Lighting a black candle, he sprinkled it with powdered mandrake root and waited.  
  
"Cogatora. You knew I would come."  
  
"I knew you would not leave." The elf-maid he had taught once had become a lady, a mother and now a shade. He could make out her ghostly features, the mist of her hair and the plain burial dress.  
  
"I had little choice. I did not fear death," she asserted, and Brónalm nodded - that was the way of their people. "By their Laws, the Bali have broken the circle of death unto life. I do not have the patience, I suppose, to wait for the end of Eä. But that is not why you have called me here."  
  
"No, herina, it is not," Brónalm answered.  
  
They spoke long into the night. At length, Brónalm sensed the closing of the stars. He must bring this, too, to a close. "Your words, I think, will bring some comfort to our King," he assured the shade.  
  
"He will never leave these woods. His children will leave him, but he will remain, to fade into one of the _tawri_ like our people. Spirits of the wood, he and I shall both be then, and perhaps reunited." (38)  
  
Brónalm nodded, feeling tears spring to his eyes. How long must the time seem to her! What sins had the elf committed that Mandos must heal her? What joys could await her in Aman, among strangers? Yet here, unhoused, she would see Anor rise countless times, able to do naught but watch and wait. He hoped that just to be near her infant son and her beloved husband would be a comfort to her; she would see her child take his first steps, hear him speak his first words.  
  
He, Brónalm, would be certain that the child would know his mother's Silvan tongue and the ways of her people, that he would learn to speak to the trees and sing to the stars. This much he could promise her.  
  
"You must speak for me, as I cannot. He must hear what Abanna has made known to me." With these words, the shade melted into the shadows.  
  
Brónalm extinguished the candle and lit a lantern, glad for the light. As morning broke, the river came to life. A group of elves returning from patrol floated by on a raft, softly singing in the Silvan tongue, a lay for the unfortunate Amroth and Nimrodel. Perhaps, Brónalm thought, this tale of faraway tragic love, but a fairy tale to the elves of Northern Mirkwood, distracted them from the pall cast over their own kingdom.  
  
The bow-master knew he should seek out his King, but the events of the night had wearied him. Great effort had he expended to maintain the circle of protection around him, to ward off other spirits. Tórasin, he was certain, had no malice, but other spirits would have a body. For this reason the Valar forbade such contact with shades. Yet he thought they would forgive him for this, for he served their interest. (39)  
  
Having considered his words carefully, he at last made his way to the caverns the next day. He found the King in his library, the household accounts before him, but his mind elsewhere. He knocked at the open door; failing to rouse Thranduil, he knocked again.  
  
"My apologies, Cúcherdir," Thranduil greeted the ancient elf, bowing his head in respect even as the other bowed to his King. "I fear I was distracted."  
  
Brónalm sat. "Your loss is felt by us all," he said simply.  
  
Thranduil nodded. "She was well-loved by the people."  
  
"As you are. The Silvan folk know you have lost and endured much on our behalf, Aranen, and we grieve for you. Nor are the Valar blind to all that you have given. Though your father's house had no part in the making of the Rings, you fought valiantly to free Arda once of Sauron and your realm now suffers of the Dark Lord more than any other among our kindred. This, too, the Valar do not forget."  
  
"And they have remembered me how? By sundering me from the lady who will nonetheless remain a part of me until the end of Eä?"  
  
"You were bound to two wives - by Námo's doom that could not be. Yet Yavanna allowed this to happen, that your father's promise to you might be fulfilled."  
  
_"More sorrow awaits you, I fear. Yet from your sorrows shall come one among the Silvan folk, a child of your heart who will bring joy to the dark days you have yet to endure."_  
  
'_Adar vuin_, I fear the sorrow is more than I can bear,' Thranduil thought as he remembered his father's words. (40)  
  
"The child is a gift of the Valar. They dearly wished that he be given to you, to ease the troubles yet to come. More Silvan than Sindarin will he be, for Yavanna's spirit breeds true from mother to son. The lady Tórasin lives in this child, Aranen.  
  
"And," he added with a secretive smile, "you are not so sundered as you think, Aranen. There are other fates for the elves; fates over which even Námo cannot speak."  
  
Thranduil sat long in contemplation of the ancient elf's words. Yavanna herself had defied her fellow Vala and his stern Law, and he saw that somehow, Tórasin had cheated Námo of his righteous retribution. He smiled for the first time in weeks, remembering his wife's stubborn spirit. It felt good to think of her without sorrow for a moment.  
  
He had feared that her son would too painfully remind him of her, and saw he had failed her - she would want him to find joy in their child, not regret. "Galion," he called, seeing the elf's shadow by his door, waiting for his request.  
  
The butler appeared in the doorway. "Aranen?"  
  
"I wish to see my son."  
  
Galion smiled with relief. "I will tell Brúniel." He left, but returned a moment later. "Aranen?" he asked again.  
  
"Yes? What now?" Thranduil asked, impatient.  
  
"I am glad you are back." The elf did not wait to see the effect of his words, but disappeared, leaving the King to shake his head at the sometimes-childlike heart of the ancient elf.  
  
Brúniel took so long in coming that Thranduil thought that perhaps Galion's message had been mislaid. "What kept you?" he asked.  
  
"The baby was napping. You have waited a month to see your child - I saw no reason to disturb his dreams." Her face sharp with disapproval of her King, she laid the tiny elf in his father's arms. The baby gave a squeak of protest and began to work himself into a more indignant state at separation from his nurse.  
  
"This little one must have the care of a father, Aranen. The mortal Viduwyn cares for him most attentively, and he has my love and that of your sons. But he is motherless already, and fearful of abandonment; he cries if left alone at night. He does not like the dark." Brúniel kept her voice soft, less to soften her disapproval than to avoid upsetting the baby.  
  
The King hardly heard her. This child, for whom he had sacrificed so much - this child, Oropher's dying promise...this child wrapped his little hand around his heart. "_Man amarth al le dhartha, ionen bigen?_ Even the Valar have quarreled to bring you into the world," Thranduil wondered, stroking the soft white-gold down on his head. In this alone would he resemble his brothers, for his slate grey eyes and delicate features came of his mother. The baby grasped his finger, his eyes looking about him with great curiosity. (41)  
  
Innolas entered the library, smiling at the sight of his majestic father, clearly reduced to jelly by his tiny brother. His father, he thought, would overcome his sorrow and his realm would remain strong, even as the shadow lengthened in the days to come. _Edhellendor-Vedui_, Oropher had named his son, and his words proved true. No Ring of Power protected them, and no Maia encircled their lands with an enchanted girdle, nor did the legendary flame of the Calaquendi keep evil at bay in Northern Mirkwood. The resilience of the House of Lasgalen rested in what neither the Noldor nor Thingol had in abundance. 'We have loved and trusted in one another. By our unity we have endured where petty jealousies and quarrels have undone great kings,' he realized. (42)  
  
"You will be much loved, _muindor dithen_," Innolas informed the baby. The child looked up at him with wide eyes. "He will be a beautiful elf, Adar." (43)  
  
Thranduil thought of his youngest child's improbable beginnings. He could not then know that his son would avenge the kin of Thranduil's mother and the death of Oropher, or that this Sindarin child with a Silvan heart would be the most renowned of all the Wood folk. Destiny lay heavy on this baby, but Thranduil thought only of his father's promise. "He will do great things, this little one. Yet more precious than all he might do is the joy he will bring to our house. He is truly a gift." (44)  
  


* * *

  
(1)_Aran Eryn Forodren_  

    King of the Northern Forest - Thranduil is called "_King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood_" in Westron (ref. _LOTR_ p 234, pub. Houghton Mifflin), but it seems unlikely to me that his Elvish title would use the Sindarin name for the forest - he probably would not want to be called 'King of the Forest of Great Fear'.  
  

(2)_Hadhodrond_  

    Khazad-dûm  
  

(3)_Morag_  

    Moria - lit. black gulf (Silvan). Eldarin _mori_ would become _mor_ in Nandorin (see _lygn_ for the disappearance of final short _-i_), while _jagu_ would become _ag_, through the loss of _j_ (see _spenna_) and final short _-u_ (see _Utum_).  
  

(4)'The dwarf-king perished with his hardiest warriors, and those who survived fled the mines, but the Balrog had wasted his powers. The elf-lands to the east must wait.'  

    The Balrog running amok in the 1900s is a bit of a problem - he could not have been the cause of Amroth and Nimrodel's flight from Lórinand, unless every elf who saw him either died or fled. Even if those who remained could not identify the creature (and perhaps Legolas was uniquely perceptive in recognizing the Balrog), Galadriel and Celeborn most certainly would have known it from their descriptions. It is clear that a thousand years later, no one knows or remembers what drove the dwarves from Moria - certainly, men might forget in such a span of time, and even dwarves, but most of the elves of Lórien would have been alive in 1981. The other problem lies in the Balrog's return to Moria - why wouldn't he continue his rampage? This leads me to believe that he never could have left the mines, and that orcs, taking over as the dwarves fled, must have overwhelmed Lórien - the elves' defense would be weak in that northern corner, as they had then no fear of attack from Moria.  
  

(5)Forod'lad  

    There must have been a village near Thranduil's caverns, though it is never mentioned. I decided to give it a name.  
  

(6)_Gran_  

    King (Silvan). The Eldarin word is not attested, but given the Quenya derivative, it seems likely that it was 3_aran_ (probably the first-person aorist of the verb 'to hold'). The back-spirant _3_ became _g_ in Nandorin (see _cogn_), and two identical vowels in adjacent syllables would cause syncope of the unaccented vowel (see _Golda_). Properly, such syncope would develop _Garn_, but as this is the same as an Orkish word, I chose _Gran_ instead.  
  

(7)_Tinweg_, _Golphinweg_ and _Inweg_  

    _Tinweg_ comes directly from _The Book of Lost Tales I_. _Golphinweg_ is also found there, with the spelling _Golfinweg_; the _ph_ » _f_ shift must have occurred relatively late, as it is not found in Old Sindarin (it probably spread from Quenya to Telerin in Aman, and came to Sindarin via the Exiles). _Inwë_ is found in _Lost Tales_ and doesn't quite fit with Tolkien's later etymology, but Ingweg would likely give _Inbeg_ in Nandorin, if the consonant cluster _gw_ follows the lead of _kw_. _weg_ is attested by _Denweg_ (_The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar').  
  

(8)_El-barda_  

    Varda (Silvan). From Eldarin _Baradá_ (which becomes _Barda_ by syncope of the second _a_ [see _Golda_], and the _-á_ » _-a_ (see _dunna_).  
  

(9)_Granna_  

    my King (Silvan). _-na_ comes from Ryszard Derdzinski's reconstructions of Eldarin pronouns; Eldarin _-njá_ would likely become _-na_ in Nandorin (see _spenna_).  
  

(10)_lindalë_  

    music (Q)  
  

(11)'the Valar who most loved the Third Clan'  

    Tolkien implies that Ulmo was not the only Vala who opposed the decision to bring the elves to Aman (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_ pp 161-2 pub. Houghton Mifflin). He does not identify Ulmo's allies, but Yavanna was likely one of them, as she would want the elves - especially the Nelyar - to help her to heal her creations.  
  

(12)_iavas_  

    Autumn  
  

(13)_Mereth Perethuil_  

    lit. Feast of Mid-Spring (this corresponds approximately to Beltane, aka May Day)  
  

(14)_Dîs-e-guren_  

    Bride of my heart  
  

(15)_Abanna_  

    Yavanna (Silvan). The Eldarin is not given, but it was probably something like _Jábantané_ (Fruit-giver). _j_ seems to have disappeared in Nandorin (see _spenna_). _á_ became _a_, and syncope of the third _a_ would give _abantné_. _t_ seems to have dropped out before another consonant (see _snoe^s_), and final _-é_ became _-a_ (see _hrassa_).  
  

(16)_Denweg_  

    Lenwë (Nandorin). (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 412 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(17)_Cogatora_  

    Bow-master (Silvan). The ancient Eldarin is actually _kuw_, but the adjective - 'bowed, bent' - came from a later addition to Etymologies. This word, _ku_3_na_, was closer to the original stem (_ku_3), so I would guess that something like _ku_3 or _ku_3_á_ for 'bow' also existed in Eldarin. _ku_3_á_ would become _coga_, as attested by the adjective _cogn_. The second part of the word comes from _túrá_. _t_ and other unvoiced spirants seem to be viable at the beginning or middle of Nandorin words (except when followed by another consonant) - see _Utum_. _ú_ would likely follow the lead of other long vowels and become _u_, and then umlaut, like the first _u_, to _o_, due to a-umlaut (attested by _cogn_ and probably _meord_; also seen in Doriathrin). The final _-á_ probably becomes _-a_ and does not drop off in Nandorin.  
  

(18)_Denthar_  

    Denethor (Silvan). In the same paragraph in which Tolkien gives _Denweg_ as the Nandorin word for Lenwë, he also offers a new etymology for _Denethor_. However, he does not explicitly state that this is the Nandorin form of the name, and it seems impossible to reconcile _Denethor_ from _dene_ + _thara_ with _Denweg_ from _dene_ + _wego_. If a final short _-e_ does not drop off in Nandorin (which seems unlikely, as all other short vowels do), syncope in the compound form would eliminate the second _e_ - otherwise, _Denweg_ would be _Deneweg_. As for _thor_ from _thara_, this sounds more like a Sindarinized version of the word; Nandorin _a_ may become _o_ in a few cases involving diphthongs or consecutive vowels (_meord_, _snoe^s_), but ordinarily, it remains _a_.  
  

(19)'Nurwë, leader of the Nelyarin Avari, had led her clan south'  

    Tolkien didn't specify the gender of Morwë and Nurwë - who make their only (to my knowledge) appearance in _Morgoth's Ring_. Given that Sindarin females seem to hold more status than their Noldorin counterparts, it seems fitting that one of the early leaders of the Nelyar might be female.  
  

(20)Eöl  

    One of Tolkien's late ideas about Eöl made him one of the Avari (of Nelyarin, not Tatyarin origins), but this was rejected in favor of keeping his relationship to Thingol intact (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Maeglin'). I rather liked the idea, and since nothing prohibits the idea that Thingol had sisters (indeed, given all the elves somehow related to him and to Círdan, it seems likely), this interpretation seems to fit all the requirements. The Tatyarin Avari hated the Noldor, and such ancestry would explain Eöl's talent as a smith, yet as nephew to Thingol, he would be in a position to ask leave to live away from Doriath (such origins would also explain his discomfort in Doriath).  
  

(21)_Penni_  

    Silvan Elves (Silvan). (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar')  
  

(22)'After the war in Mordor, many elves found themselves widowed, and the Laws at last began to break down among the Eldar, as the widowed pledged their love to one another.'  

    This, of course, is completely out of canon, but Tolkien never did consider the Avari in the 'Laws and Customs of the Eldar'.  
  

(23)_Laegel_  

    Green Elf  
  

(24)_Laegrim_  

    Green Elves  
  

(25)_Bali_  

    Valar (Silvan). From _balá_, which would become _bala_ in Nandorin (see _dunna_). The final _-a_ appears to drop off when the plural ending _-i_ is added (see _Lindi_).  
  

(26)"I would be too diminished, if I had a child"  

    From _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar', in which Tolkien notes that female elves had nearly the strength of male elves until they bore children. (ref. p 213 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(27)_herina_  

    my lady (Silvan). _kherí_ is the likely feminine equivalent of _kherú_, the attested Eldarin for lord. Eldarin _kh_ became _h_ (see _hrassa_). Short _-i_, like other final short vowels, would drop off (see _lygn_), but the fate of long _-í_ is not attested - I would guess that it would become _-i_, though this would cause some confusion with the plural. As for the ending _-na_, see _Granna_, above.  
  

(28)_Ivonwin_  

    Maidens of Yavanna - they were the only elves allowed to handle the corn until it was made into lembas. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Of Lembas').  
  

(29)_oebana_  

    Simbelmynë (Silvan). From Eldarin _oio_, ever + _bánjá_, fair. _oi_ becomes _oe_ due to a-umlaut of the _i_ (see _meord_) and the final _-o_ drops off (see _Denweg_). _j_ seems to disappear in Nandorin (see _spenna_), while long _á_ becomes short _a_ (see _dunna_).  
  

(30)_firith_  

    late autumn (lit. 'fading').  
  

(31)_Mereth Iau-Grithol_  

    lit. 'festival of corn-reaping'. _Grithol_ is the participle of the verb _critho_, lenited to _g-_ as an adjective following its noun.  
  

(32)'the great amount of vitality elven women put into their babies'  

    This is more from _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar', in which Tolkien states that both the begetting and bearing of children demanded more of elves than of humans. (ref. p 212 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(33)_bess_  

    woman  
  

(34)"_Ele!_"  

    Lo! (PQ) (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 360 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(35)_ondona_  

    my son (Silvan). Eldarin _jondo_ loses the initial _j_ (see _spenna_); the final short _-o_, normally lost, reappears due to the addition of the pronominal suffix _-na_ - this occurs in Sindarin when the suffix _-n_ is added to a noun ending in a consonant (_guren_, my heart, for example, from _gûr_).  
  

(36)"You shall grow weary of your state, and envious of those who live, and vulnerable to temptations of evil things that would use you as their instrument."  

    This is based on Tolkien's discussion of fëar who refused the call of Mandos. (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar' pp 223-224 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(37)_ithron_  

    wizard  
  

(38)_tawri_  

    fays of the wood (Silvan). This is constructed from _tawaró_/_tawaré_. _w_ seems to be a valid sound in Silvan Elvish, as attested by _Denweg_ (see above) - though it disappeared in the consonant cluster _kw_ and probably _gw_. The syncope of _tawar_ » _tawr_ is attested by _Golodó_ » _Golda_. _-ó_/_-é_ are masculine and feminine endings; both would become _-a_ in Nandorin, but it appears that in plurals a final vowel drops off (see _Linda_/_Lindi_).  
  

(39)'For this reason the Valar forbade such contact with shades.'  

    More from Tolkien's discussion of shades. (ref. _Morgoth's Ring_, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar' pp 223-224 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(40)_Adar vuin_  

    Dear Father  
  

(41)"_Man amarth al le dhartha, ionen bigen?_"  

    "What fate waits for you, my tiny son?"  
  

(42)_Edhellendor-Vedui_  

    Last Elvenking - _Edhellendor-Vedui_ from _edhellen_, 'elven' + _-dor_ (_-tor_ if it were not lenited), 'king'; _vedui_ (lenited from _medui_), 'last'. Obviously, I invented this name, but it is canonically accurate - after the death of Amroth, Thranduil was the last king of elves in Middle-Earth.  
  

(43)_muindor dithen_  

    little brother  
  

(44)'his son would avenge the kin of Thranduil's mother'  

    This is an idea inspired by Finch, who noted that one reason Tolkien may have moved Gil-galad to Finarfin's house relates to Sauron's involvement with that house - of all the Noldor, the Finarfians lost the most to Sauron. That Thranduil also descended from Angrod is entirely my own interpretation, and relates to his golden hair, but it would be rather fitting for a descendant of Finarfin to be part of Sauron's final defeat. (No, I'm not forgetting the Peredhil, grandchildren of Galadriel - I just couldn't work them into that last sentence [;p].)  

  
  



	9. Appendix: All in the Family

Disclaimer: References are shown for Tolkien's work; the rest is mine.   
  


**Appendix: All in the Family**  
(Canonical and speculative basis for relationships in this story) 

  
  
**_Celeborn & Oropher_**   
  
According to _Unfinished Tales_, Celeborn is the son of Galadhon, who is the son of Elmo, brother to Thingol (Elwë) and Olwë. Celeborn's brother, Galathil, is the father of Nimloth, wife of Dior.   
  
I think it is safe to state that Oropher belongs somewhere in the Elwë-Elmo-Olwë family tree, based on two lines in _LOTR_. The first comes from Legolas, when he is to be blindfolded upon entering Lórien: "I am an Elf and a kinsman here." Tolkien generally used 'kindred' to mean race (as in elves, dwarves, etc), and used 'kin' and 'kinsman' to indicate blood relations. He was not consistent, but since Legolas has already stated that he is an elf in this sentence, it does not make sense to interpret 'kinsman' to mean race - he would be saying, "I am an Elf and an Elf here."   
  
The second line is Celeborn's greeting to Legolas: "Too seldom do **my** kindred journey hither from the North." As I have just stated, 'kindred' usually meant race. In this sentence, however, that meaning does not make much sense, as it is prefaced by "my" - if "kindred" is intended to mean 'elves', then one would expect Celeborn to say, "Too seldom do **our** kindred journey hither from the North." As he is surrounded by elves, and greeting the Fellowship on behalf of the people of Lórien, it is strange for him to single out himself (compare with Haldir's statement: "Even **our** own kindred in the North are sundered from us"). A relationship shared only by Celeborn and Legolas is implied.   
  
There is no room for Oropher among Elwë's descendants, and Olwë's descendants either went to Aman or seem to have ended up near the Sea (more on that later). Oropher's name seems to fit the pattern of Elmo's descendants; it means, as near as I can tell, 'tall birch tree'. Thus, I have invented a second son for Elmo - Elorn - to be the father of Oropher. This makes Oropher and Celeborn cousins. Oropher's mother, in my conception, is Lenwë's sister. This is based on a reference linking Oropher to Denethor, son of Lenwë, and I am afraid that I just cannot find the reference now.   
  
**_Malgalad (Amdír) and Amroth_**   
  
I have placed Malgalad (aka Amdír) among Elmo's descendents; here he is son of Galathil and nephew to Celeborn. In _Unfinished Tales_ we are told, "whether Thranduil and Amroth were akin is not now known" (Amroth is the son of Amdír). Malgalad means 'golden tree' and thus fits nicely into the 'tree-names' of Elmo's descendants. Tolkien uses both Amdír and Malgalad to name the first King of Lórien; Amdír (meaning 'high-up elf'?) could be an acquired name, I think, perhaps referring to his position in Lórien.   
  
**_Oropher's Wife_**   
  
In Rîn, I created a Noldorin ancestor to explain Thranduil's "golden hair" as described in _The Hobbit_. Here I relied on Tolkien's revised genealogy for Angrod, son of Finarfin. In _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, Orodreth, formerly brother to Angrod, becomes his son, and Gil-galad, formerly son of Fingon (son of Fingolfin), is now the son of Orodreth (and brother to Finduilas). I invented a daughter for Angrod; she marries a Sinda and their daughter, Anórieth, becomes Oropher's wife. In this conception, Gil-galad and Anórieth are cousins (lest the succession of High King worry you, remember that the Noldorin line was strictly paternal; neither daughters nor their male offspring could inherit - so no, Thranduil does not become High King upon Gil-galad's death :~).   
  
**_Círdan and Thranduil's Wife_**   
  
Finally, there is the matter of Círdan. There is a hint to Círdan's lineage in _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_. Here it is stated that Círdan is a kinsman to Elwë, but closer kin to Olwë. Since Elwë and Olwë are brothers, Círdan must then be a descendant of Olwë - perhaps a grandson, since Tolkien certainly would have noted that he is the son of Olwë if that had been his intention. In Rîn, I created a politically advantageous match for Thranduil; here I have made Berinaeth niece to Círdan.   



	10. Appendix 2: Nandorin Etymology

**Author's Notes:** This chapter explains the Nandorin history and language that serves as background for this story. The major external sources I have used come from the work of Helge Fauskanger (Ardalambion) and Ryszard Derdzinski (Fellowship of the Wordsmiths) regarding Nandorin, Common Eldarin and reconstruction of Elvish pronouns. The URLs for these sites may be found on the homepage listed under my ff.net profile.  
  
Some of what appears in this Appendix has been stated in previous chapters - I just wanted to put it all together in one place.  
  
**Disclaimer:** All languages herein referenced (er, with the exception of English - I think) belong to Tolkien.  


  
**Appendix II: Nandorin Etymology**  


  
**The History:** The language of the Nandor came originally from the tongue that developed among Lenwë's people in Eryn Galen after they left the Great March. Already the Teleri had begun to develop a language distinct from Common Eldarin (the root language of all elves) and from what would become Quenya among the Vanyar and Noldor. Common Telerin later spawned Old Sindarin in Beleriand and Telerin among Olwë's people in Aman. Old Sindarin broke up into Northern Sindarin (aka Ilkorin or Mithrim), Doriathrin and Falathrin (said to be both linguistically close to Ilkorin and also more ancient - it may have been more similar to Old Sindarin). The Exiles brought Quenya into the mix, and after the dust of the First Age settled, something akin to mature (Quenya-influenced) Sindarin (aka Imladris Sindarin) had developed. However, Círdan's folk apparently continued to speak a more ancient dialect (1) and Doriathrin may have survived among Oropher's people until the War of the Last Alliance. (2)  
  
Meanwhile, some of Lenwë's people came to Ossiriand, speaking the Nandorin tongue. Among Denethor's folk, Nandorin probably survived in only a few words by the end of the First Age. Those who went into Doriath likely learned the Doriathrin dialect, and those who remained in the wilds of Ossiriand may have been influenced by Northern Sindarin, the language used by the sons of Fëanor. Nandorin was not a dead language, however, as it was still spoken in Eryn Galen. In Lórien, due to the many Noldor who entered the land after the fall of Eregion, the Silvan tongue remained only in an accent and perhaps a few words (mistakenly thought by Frodo to be a different language). In Thranduil's realm, however, it was still spoken late in the Third Age. Legolas almost certainly spoke this language, (3) but Imladris Sindarin was his birth tongue. (4)  
  
**The Sources:** Most of our information regarding Nandorin comes from the Etymologies (circa 1938) in _The Lost Road_. Here, the language is called 'Danian'. Tolkien's later works, however, do not always agree with the phonology and grammar of Danian. From 1959 we have _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar', which changed plural formation and the fate of the _kw_ consonant cluster. A few words come from _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', giving us a hint to a possible genitive case and further revising the phonology (the date is possibly 1969, though it is difficult to determine from Christopher Tolkien's commentary; this work is, however, certainly late in J.R.R.'s career). Finally, a Letter from 1958 offers the word _lêg_ from _laika_ in explanation of the first part of 'Legolas' (the second part is there said to be derived from Sindarin).  
  
Tolkien's changes are not so difficult to reconcile, if we suppose that what Pengolodh collected in the Etymologies represented the Nandor who came to Arvernien at the end of the First Age. By this point, Nandorin would have undergone some change, influenced by Doriathrin and Northern Sindarin, and would no longer be the 'pure' tongue of Lenwë's people. Likewise, the language of the Silvan Elves in the late Second Age and Third Age would also have been somewhat altered by the language of the King.  
  
**Umlauts in Nandorin:** Umlaut causes vowels to change so that they are more like one another - briefly, in i-umlaut, back vowels become neutral or front vowels, whereas in a-umlaut, the opposite occurs. For English-speaking readers, this is best understood in terms of some of our irregular plurals and verbs. 'Foot' becomes 'feet' due to a now-lost plural vowel that changed _oo_ to _ee_, for example.  
  
**i-umlaut:** Our only example of 'Danian' plurals comes from _urc_/_yrc_, which would be identical to mature Sindarin plural formation. Evidently, when Tolkien later revised his languages, deciding that Sindarin developed in Beleriand and that Ilkorin and Doriathrin were dialects of Sindarin, he realized that the plural of mature Sindarin would not come from a language nearly dead (in Beleriand, at least) by the end of the First Age. In _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar', Tolkien introduced a new plural formation to what he now called Nandorin - and probably did away with the i-umlaut, as well. This text offers _Penni_ from Eldarin _kwende_ as the name Lenwë's people took for themselves. Obviously, the plural is now formed with an _-i_; moreover, if i-umlaut still held true, the plural would be _pinni_ (or perhaps _pindi_, since _i_ did not trigger the conversion of _nd_ to _nn_). We might imagine that the i-umlaut spread among some of the Laiquendi who did not go into Doriath. These elves probably had contact with the Fëanorians and thus Northern Sindarin, from which the i-umlaut of mature Sindarin probably developed.  
  
**a-umlaut:** a-umlaut causes preceding _i_ to become _e_ and _u_ to become _o_. It is also seen in Doriathrin and mature Sindarin. We have no evidence that Tolkien later repudiated this vowel shift as he did i-umlaut, but the internal history would support its existence. It probably did not exist in the pure Silvan of Lenwë's people, but was assimilated into Nandorin by the Green Elves of Doriath (it is not seen in Old Sindarin or Telerin, and so cannot have been part of Common Telerin). It should be noted that Doriathrin and Nandorin had a feature not apparent in mature Sindarin - a-umlaut apparently did not affect vowels followed by a nasal consonant (_n_ or _m_).  
  
**The Corpus:** The following are the words to which I've referred in the last chapter as a basis for sound changes in Nandorin. For this, I am indebted to Helge Fauskanger for his Nandorin glossary, though in a few cases I disagree with the Eldarin source word, largely due to punctuation that sets some words in the Etymologies apart. Thus, I have also found his very detailed work on Primitive Elvish to be of great use, as it offers a few Eldarin words not found in the Etymologies (or later corrected by Tolkien), as well as many of the suffixes corresponding to parts of speech. Punctuation in the Etymologies is quite important: parentheses might be used to isolate a particular form, semi-colons usually show how Tolkien's various languages rendered one preceding Eldarin form, and a full stop generally sets a word apart from that preceding form. It should be noted that Christopher Tolkien had a fairly difficult task in transcribing the Etymologies in all their corrected forms. A missed full stop would not be held against him, but should be considered possible, nonetheless.  
  
**_lygn_** (pale) from CE _lugni_: This is an example of the i-umlaut later rejected; it would probably come out as _lugn_ according to Tolkien's later conception. It is useful, however, as it is our sole example of the fate of a final short _-i_ - evidently, it drops off. This also tells us that Tolkien did not envision a special adjectival ending for Nandorin (which is also true in Sindarin).  
  
**_Utum_** (Utumno) from CE _Utubnu_: In CE this probably became _Utunbu_ and then _Utumbu_, given other words from the original Eldarin. We see here that medially, short _u_ remained short _u_ (except in the case of a-umlaut), that an unvoiced spirant between two vowels remained so, and that the nasal cluster _mb_ became _m_ in Nandorin (probably seen also in _Nimrodel_). Final short _-u_ evidently drops off.  
  
**_cogn_** (bow-shaped, bent) from CE _ku_3_ná_: This word is actually glossed as coming from another CE derivation, _kogna_, that also gave rise to the Ilkorin forms of the word. Here, the shift from the back-spirant _3_ to _g_ has already occurred, as has the a-umlaut of _u_ to _o_ (though a-umlaut did not occur in Ilkorin). Long final _-á_ had already become short _-a_, which then drops off in Nandorin.  
  
**_Golda_** (Noldo) from CE _ngolodó_: The source for the CE form is _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar'. Here we see that the nasal cluster _ng_ becomes _g_ in Nandorin, and final _-ó_ becomes _-a_. We also have evidence of syncope of the second consonant, a common feature of Eldarin languages. When two identical vowels appeared in consecutive syllables, one, usually the second (unaccented) vowel would often drop out.  
  
**_dunna_** (black) from CE _dunná_: The CE form is not attested, but must end in a long _-á_, as short -a must have remained in Old Sindarin in order to produce the a-umlaut apparent in mature Sindarin (_donn_). _u_ does not become _o_ in the Nandorin word, I assume, because in Doriathrin-style a-umlaut, vowels before a nasal were unaffected (this is apparent in the Doriathrin version of the same Eldarin word: _dunn_).  
  
**_spenna_** (white) from CE _spanjá_: Helge Fauskanger notes that Telerin _spania_ could not come from CE _spána_, the only Eldarin form given by Tolkien. The entry for SPAN is rather convoluted, but two sets of words are given for Quenya and Noldorin, the first meaning 'white', the second 'cloud'. After the Noldorin word for cloud, _spána_ appears in parentheses, followed by a semi-colon and the Telerin and Danian forms. I would guess that _spána_ is given as the CE origin of Noldorin _faun_, 'cloud', rather than as the source of the next two words. Something like _spanjá_ must also be the source of the Quenya word for 'white', so we can suppose that words derived from _spanjá_ (which, in any case, has an adjectival ending) mean 'white' and those from _spána_ mean 'cloud'. Moreover, _spanjá_ could yield Danian _spenna_: the _j_ first becomes _i_, causing the _a_ to umlaut to _e_ (i-umlaut) and then is evidently lost (this is the only clue we have as to the behavior of _j_ in Nandorin). _spána_, however, would likely yield Nandorin _span_. In _spenna_, we see the doubling of _n_ after _e_ and conversion of final _-á_ to _-a_, and the conservation of CE _sp_ (all other Eldarin languages, with the exception of Telerin, produced _f_ from this consonant cluster). With Tolkien's later rejection of i-umlaut, the word would likely come out as _spana_.  
  
**_snoe^s_** (spear-head, point, gore) from CE _snasté_: This may be a case, attested in Danian _edel_ (from _eled_, originally) of transposition - here, final _-é_ and _s_ switch places. It appears that _t_ - perhaps all unvoiced spirants - is lost before a consonant (_tt_ seems to be the exception), while _ae_ apparently renders _oe^_ in Nandorin. Nandorin is unique is preserving the _sn-_ initial cluster. It should be noted that the Quenya word glossed under SNAS/SNAT is probably related to the Quenya verb _nasta-_ under NAS.  
  
**_hrassa_** (precipice) from CE _khrassé_: The consonant cluster _kh_ becomes _h_ in Nandorin (perhaps another case of an unvoiced spirant being lost before a consonant), and final long _-é_ becomes _-a_.  
  
**_meord_** (fine rain) from CE _mízdé_: This may be another case of transposition, though slightly different from _edel_ and _snoe^s_. _z_ becomes _r_, and final _-é_ must become _-a_ before the transition. The entire cluster of _rd_ switches places with _a_, and the _a_ causes _í_ to umlaut to _e_; _a_ evidently becomes _o_ in this case, as it does in _snoe^s_. _a_ is also seen to render _o_ in _lóra _(isolated from _Lórinand_), derived from CE _lauré_.  
  
**_Denweg_** (Lenwë; lithe and active) from CE _dene_ + _wego_: This word does little but confirm the loss of short final vowels, already seen in lygn, Utum and cogn. Both the word and its CE roots come from _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar'.  
  
**_Lindi_** (Nandor, lit. 'Singers') from CE _lindá_: One would expect the Nandorin singular to be Linda, as final _-á_ usually becomes _-a_. Unlike Telerin, which appended the plural ending _-i_ to any ending already present, Nandorin apparently replaced a final vowel with _-i_.  
  


* * *

  
(1)'Círdan's folk apparently continued to speak a more ancient dialect'  

    "_Círdan and his people…remained in many ways a separate folk, speaking even in later days a more archaic language._" (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Last Writings' pp 385-386 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(2)'Doriathrin may have survived among Oropher's people until the War of the Last Alliance'  

    Nowhere does Tolkien suggest this, but I think it rather probable. Mature Sindarin is linguistically closest to Northern Sindarin, a language Thingol associated with the Fëanorians and which was as reviled in Doriath as Quenya. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Problem of _Ros'_ p 372 pub. Houghton Mifflin) Quenya also influenced mature Sindarin, and no good Golodh-hating son of Doriath would adopt a language he probably associated with the Noldor. Moreover, Oropher's isolation from the Sindar and Noldor of Lindon would tend to preserve the Doriathrin dialect; most of those who went with him to Eryn Galen were probably Sindar or Nandor of Doriath. However, it is evident that by the late Third Age, not only did Thranduil's house speak Sindarin, but apparently had no problem with Quenya (see below). The war would be the likely catalyst for change - not only was Oropher killed in the war, but it would have brought the elves of Eryn Galen into contact with elves of Lindon and Imladris.  
  

(3)'Legolas almost certainly spoke this language'  

    '_it is a fair song in our woodland tongue_' (ref. _LOTR_ p 330 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

(4)'Imladris Sindarin was his birth tongue'  

    "_'Yrch!' said Legolas, falling into his own tongue._" (Ibid p 377); '_In Eressëa, in Elvenhome_' (ref. p 935). There is a Sindarin word for Eressëa, but evidently, any feeling his grandfather had against the language has not been passed on. He also uses Sauron rather than Gorthaur. Other sources: "_Thranduil father of Legolas of the Nine Walkers was Sindarin, and that tongue was used in his house, though not by all his folk._" (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 269 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey); "_The Silvan Elves of Thranduil's realm did not speak S. _[Sindarin]_ but a related language or dialect._" (ref. _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, 'Letter 347' p 425 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

  
  



End file.
